tell me again about the flood
the water stoppering the air & how our people
learnt to cross it by drowning
afterwards we rebuilt our cities underwater
lest we dared to escape ourselves
or our grandfathers who carried
the names of the dead in their mouths
but left us no room for language
grief our only shared vocabulary
regret the only warpaint we dared put on
as a child I stole into my grandmother’s room
smeared my cheeks with her rice powder
but when I looked in the mirror
all I saw were ghosts jealous of my breathing
I offered them my lungs too foolish
to remember they were not for the taking
the same way my heart shouldn’t have gone
to the first man who dulled the knives of his hands
pretended to whisper me truths in the dark
sweetheart needlehead fraud sometimes I’m scared
to study my rapsheet lest I forget
whose face I’m supposed be wearing
or to keep my head below
the ebbing water the wet slats
of my childhood aching to come apart