My heart is bottom-pink
and raw, not knowing
how many beats to give
beats to exhale
All words crowd into the soft
spaces, roof of my mouth
cutting inside cheeks
rolling off lips
All quiets are questions
my voice too loud
my hands too clumsy
How do I protect you
when I’ve just been born?
When my spit edges
in the corners of your drink?
I’m dumb, backseat fumbling
legs over knees
arms over shoulders
If my skin in moonlight
is softest, how do your hands
melt into my scars?
First Published in Carnival Lit.
Sarah Thursday 