In this life, a mother celebrates a daughter who returns...
This atlas body,this map skin crosses water and counts the cost. The first thing I lose on the journey isn't my language but my name. And what is language if the tongue cannot identify itself?
Who wants to carry in their hands an unfamiliar truth?
A girl who runs from everything she cannot believe. If I take my time , I'll learn how not to put my face first on a plate ,draw circles around my eyes and turn them into a path.Even then,I do not find a way that leads me home .
To be kept a secret is to be hidden from light and my voice is only loud in the dark .
In this life ,a mother celebrates a daughter who returns (to herself)
I lean into the throat of surrender like I have nothing else to lose.
My running legs break under me .
My hands pluck themselves out.
I see my mother from a distance
Drinking the ocean to get to me.
Look how easy it is to swell like a storm
And still shatter in a country you don't belong.