In dialogue with “Poem”, by Lucy Ives
it’s hard to describe at times,
how you didn’t know barnacles moved
or how they could find habitat in the underside of your skin,
how you can actually feel like the number zero,
not worthless, but nothing,
which is different than worthless
and naught like peace.
how your fingers will snatch at air
to shove life back down your throat and miss
for ten minutes, how you can drown
from just an inch of another’s anger,
how a flush of oxygen isn’t always safe.
it’s hard to describe sometimes
it’s hard to describe, sometime
it’s hard to describe, sometimes
(especially to my own people)
how the body can know the song by heart
and still sometimes sway offbeat.
© Stephanie Ambroise 2015 All Rights Reserved