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Dirty Water Baby

By .chisaraokwu. From Issue No. 7

She picks at the brown kink thick

Between her thighs, her middle

Finger and thumb twisting rope

Across the bald spot where his kink

Became her kink.

She is not god’s –

White bones hanging from a hairless tree,

An omen of her kink & blood.

She is the crinkled white that men

Sleep on after they have gone limp.

In a few months, she will give birth

To a shapeless child with no name

And they will say,

“We should also take the womb.”

Across many waters, a white flag will fold

Itself into the wind & disappear. 

She remembers that her mother

Was the color of dirty water,

Limbs made of wood and black-oiled grace.

She hid cut white ash & un-anointed skin

Between her thighs and prayed demons

Off of one pig and unto another:

Swine will not touch one of mine.

A different god will tell her

That her mother was an empire unto herself —

But all gods lie to children in adult bodies

And don’t tell them that even empires

Have cracks in them that kink & bleed.

About .chisaraokwu. More From Issue No. 7