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greenstormMy ribs have always been a cage around longing: a trap for a throng of restless crowded seethe and the chaos of bright wings that press against creaking bone.
Each flutter writes a name over and over. So many wings, so many names, and me merely a calcified cavern to house it all. This is what mom meant when she said, I worry you let your relationships inform your identity too strongly.
O beloved, you are not one of many, but instead one creaking groaning inch of space prising my ribcage open to your light.
Each flutter writes a name over and over. So many wings, so many names, and me merely a calcified cavern to house it all. This is what mom meant when she said, I worry you let your relationships inform your identity too strongly.
O beloved, you are not one of many, but instead one creaking groaning inch of space prising my ribcage open to your light.
