I was there. I know.
—C.D. Wright, Deepstep Come Shining
Let me be witness, Lord,
not half-silvered mirror.
Let me know heirloom
from hazard, my name
from a legacy of hyssop
so filial my shoulders
tangle in sharp calyxes,
my heart confuses petals
for bruises. Suffer me
until shame is my only
angle of incidence. Let my
truth, graceless squall
that it is, hold you like
a lover. Instead of words,
watch shadows graffiti
my skin and ripen. Lay
your hands on my beautiful
braille. If you cannot
deliver me, forgive me
my trespass. The discreet
side of revelation still
calls me home.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5.
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