A poem for every dying woman holding it together by a half-severed thread ~

I have words but I don’t know where to put them
I have silence but don’t know how to stay still
I have rage but only these smoky ruins remain

Shall I wrap them softly?
Swaddled in burnt ember?

Somewhere in the crawl space of my heart
I keep these words
I keep them quiet, I keep them safe

I fear their lighting
— a burnt match
A pathway winking into existence
To a smoldering anger undying, to worlds that I would end
with just one glance

Eternal, unvanquished, immortal

They say to women, find your voice
They say to women, find your dignity

They do not warn you
no they do not warn you

What happens when you do — 
the only infinity that exists is this rage

I can no longer remember the name of the dish my mother used to prepare
— the sucking up of juices of boiled bones


What else can you call
the dripping of
savory blood
down your chin
Except a kind of feral hope?