i. skin secrets

morning splits open, dripping butterflies on the bed sheets. 

i rub them clean before the kettle. green tea crumbles

to ash so prayer takes its place, warm between

cupped hands. my sister’s lisp swelling,

sin not thin like last week’s lie that

quivered but has not cracked  

yet. i duet the mirror, let     

confession roll clumsy

in my mouth. how

bitter. would 

that i drowned in

sweetness tonight. knife 

glides under peach skin, carving 

hollows pink like a blushing throat: 

this ritual always leaves me sticky. when

my finger slipped once, syrup trickled red

and your questions clicked silent beautifully

silent to watch wood swallow blood. here’s mine:

how many nights have you bruised? dreams don’t tell.

ii. regurgitation

dreams don’t tell but bodies do. 

tongue rattles, beaded with foreign sugar, 

and i bite. better silent than in pieces. 

the plate wobbles, a pinwheel of color. 

i swallow too late. stomach heaves 

all over the lacquered mahogany table

with honey whorls. what a shame. 

iii. reinvention

what a shame you couldn’t stay.  

     that doorway was my last curse.

do come again. 

     first, i will teach skin to forget.  

well, you know where to find me.

     only in nightmares

     the instant before morning splits open.