Content Warning: racism or racialized violence
Offering
For mercy, I lay at your feet all I own:
rocks and stones and bricks I collected
as a child who liked the idea of collections;
my summer of permed hair when my mother
finally let me let the gheri curl go; the fall
when all that heat-stressed hair broke away
in clumps in my comb; my blood and
the shame that came with it, the buds
and their bloom and the cramped style
of becoming; a woman—my seventh-grade
best friend’s mother, no less—laughing
at my body in a bathing suit, at the way
my hair shrunk in the pool; my father’s hand
with the hole in its heart that I missed
when he forgot to wave goodbye;
the heart-shaped notebook my sister gave me;
all the notebooks everybody gave me;
all the words that didn’t come;
all the words that did.
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