chloebaby8
chloebaby8
26.08.2019 • 
English

Idon't understand this poem, and i read it about 5 times.
making a fist for the first time, on the road north of tampico i felt the life sliding out of me a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear i was seven, i lay in the car watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass my stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin how do you know if you are going to die? " i begged my mother we had been traveling for days with strange confidence she answered "when you can no longer make a fist." years later i smile to think of that journey the borders we must cross separatley, stamped with our umaswerable woes i who did not die, who am still living, still lying in the backseat behind all my questions
clenching and opening one small hand.

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