We have wrung the blood from our stripes and the tears from our stars. Our Powerful Father has begotten and forgotten us. We had a mother who walked like jesus with swollen feet across the water with a race inside of her womb; roots run across to her broke home and we are born from the sea. We are born from nowhere, from a void, and we thus descend from this black hole. With a brief reprieve in the islands south of our shallow foster home-to-be we sank northward into the Deep where cane stalks balked at us along the gravel way and our feet, iron-clad and chained bled onto the small sharp rocks and our fingers were soon to shed crimson pearls into a soft whiteness of ungiveable forgiveness. When pigs are given dominion over pearls and what is holy has gone down to dogs and the headless carcasses of the philistines have been devoured by the foul and the beasts I will think of your noosed neck swinging in the yard; I will think of your cracked hands bleeding finely in the white sea; I will think of your strong arms, blood pooled blue at the fingertips, hanging at your side; I will think of your black hands mulling in the rich earth. The branches swing low and pendulous; the sea swallows, bubbling; upon a furrowed brow, how heavy the fruit blossoms, and in the belly festers … a hung girl.

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