To the bloody sky and a black sea beneath it: what would I do with a daughter? Raise her to be like me? A mess of a woman a shame to my name something wilted? What would I do when she saw me and said what she saw? Scratch and claw
like my mother before me?
To a fiery sky above onyx waters: I would raise her to be like me. Transcendent. Gleaming. Miraculous.
I say to my therapist, "I have no means of coping." She says to me, "And yet, here you are."
I arrive at my own strength, compel myself to keep me warm.
I say to the seer, "I don't want you to see me." She says to me, "You're too strong to feign weakness."
I arrive at my own strength, beckon myself to cover my bones.
A sea of blood beneath black clouds of skin, A whole world is stretching inside me. I pray to the altar of my body, I am someone that can save me:
Give me only what I ask for, and teach me to ask for more.
Dominique Matti is a writer and mama based in Philadelphia.
She edits for Philadelphia Printworks and writes for herself.