The Body Knows (Where It Comes From)
dream is still circling. got me hanging upside down, wings straining
to cover the rawest parts. sun come snarling in, stretching out my
ankles, wrists. i am long. a winding slave trail shuffling to the cliff.
his legs wide open sucking in the artificial light of the e train. i am left a tiny
patch of seat. my knees nail themselves together. bloodied, whispering.
this meeting is a pit of razor voices, a mud sling of big words and egos. they
do not see me. i open my mouth. i close it. i open my mouth. someone says
the thing i was going to say. i open my mouth. a raven flies in and clips
when i walk, they ask to touch my hair. i bare my teeth and run. when i run
my hair jingles: collision of hooked moons, spines, dog chains and
in front of the grocery there is a man with holes gnawing at his shoes. bags and bags, cradled in a cart. man says house of stone, breast of aching clay.
says you don't remember?
i lie cold in the dry bathtub. i am still afraid of drowning.
by Desiree Bailey
Desiree Bailey hails from Trinidad & Tobago and Queens, NY. She has received fellowships from Princeton in Africa, The Norman Mailer Center and Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop and is a recipient of the Poets & Writers 2013 Amy Award. She is currently the fiction editor at Kinfolks Quarterly and an MFA Fiction candidate at Brown University.