& a childhood. say a familyuntil it echoes grey.
say a father without bloodshed,say a pleat until the lip is closed
for frying. smoke abovea bush of pigeon vertebrae,
I call to myself, rummaging a ropewithout skill to pull up through to air.
say a qipao is a knotted collar.say the cuff hammers in
the shape of a trowel. I don’t knowwhat I’m digging for, but a throat
hollows until it is filled with homeor somewhere.
what if the maw is madeof glass ducks, & I can grasp through
a plume & feel my soul.what if a chorus of mules pound
my calloused feet &I can gallop toward the true mouth.
Lazuli is an agender, mixed-race writer and survivor. They were brought up in New York, and currently live somewhere that is definitely grassy, and probably real. When they are not writing trauma poems, they can usually be found singing, eating congee in bed, or trying to explain what jazz smells like. They are currently working on their first manuscript.