originally published in Feminine Collective
See how she scuttles across the floor
The cold tile numbs, then burns
Her palms, knees, shins
All portions of flesh pressed on
The harder thing—the hardest thing
Not cursed yet—
—Soon
Then there’s this back
The thing that holds her together
The thing she’s built around
Grew up around
Now crushed under the weight of
Their bad will
Question is: will she get to her feet again?
In agony? In overcoming song?
Maybe it doesn’t matter
As long as she looks up