No Image Poetry
Because I was born in the warmth of winter as a boy,
before a circle of girls, raised between home-songs,
I grew up this way;
my mother, planting sunflowers on the contours of my face,
she said that's the way to be beautiful/ the way to empty scars in rivers of colours/& the way to nurture a boy into blues.
my mother, removing the thorns in the roses of my smile
she said that's the way to dodge arrows/the way to grow unwounded/ & the way to sew skin-tears.
you found me in an eastern heartland
on a cold Wednesday morning, where my voice is a place of refuge
for girls learning to craft love outside their bones.
I asked for your name, it started with a C, a consonant
& before you reach its vowels, we fell in the lullaby of a cold night
igniting the fire on each other's body.
I do not know much about gods
but you unbaby-sat me & called me one.
sometimes love doesn't only finds us, it finds the 'us' we are meant to be.