Not cut to pieces,
Her body was found as white and rounded as a newborn’s thumb
Face-up in the Eastern bay,
Her mouth Open as if mouthing
The syllables of remembered conversations,
Words swept slowly like broken glass upon the shore -
Respect the family, recalling
Her mother’s words roaring in her chest like fire,
Not enough, the hallways trembling with whispers of
loser.
She folded deeper inside herself, searching for a land where the only language
Is one of slow movements and perfectly completed sentences.

Time and time I have traveled there as well, that despair,
hauling myself up the last heavy steps to its railings,
always expecting to turn back. Not for her,
Not when she snuck to the rooftop of her apartment building and drew
A long,

lingering sigh -
Soaring down, into

The self-assured arms of the beautiful, singing
This is mine, now, and this is yours.