TWO POEMS
How Soon the Trees
even I’ll be. Then eight. Then nine. Ten is where I ends, ten is all, comes last. Ten is old enough to start my own, ten is when I leave. Start my home, find my mama, . I make a map. Inside my . The place the colors how soon the trees. How many soon? Ten thousand double-steps by a soldier soon. . Today I am up before her. I sleep on that bed before. I sleep in the middle unless she comes to sleep too. I make room. I make room. It makes the gut ache hard to clay. A song the night’s a newer color. I thrum her sound inside my ear by laying close and then tighter. I lay until she is inside me. Her hair is silkworms in my ear. Silkworms sparring her heart thrum in my ear. I know how to stop it. Heart Stopping Palm I practiced ten thousand times with Baba. . Scent like Bone Righting Water after all night with me: her hair. I gave my black and blue to her blonde my injuries disinfect her. Mama said we born with muscles too quiet, so we work all the time make them louder. . Mama said we born with enemies, girls, small happiness soldiers we. We work all the time drill us daughters. Kicking shins against trees. We work all the time fix us fighters. Striking knees at trees. Bloody trees. Bits of bone trees. Train us tougher trees. I smashed the candy of my knuckles smashed those trees. Trees in a China ten thousand double-steps by a soldier away. .
