We tried to comfort each other, but instead felt the mud-brown scars pouring all over our clay-statue bodies We were once young bugs slithering
Walking to school, two girls at the grade crossing, patient as passenger cars, doors open. The pavement under their feet did not rumble.
“I know I was born to wear out at least one hundred angels.” —Yusef Kuminyaka They shed their spotless feathers at my feet, as