Due to limited control of our formatting on posts, the formatting of the following poem is incorrect.
idle hands frame my body naked
in bed, I lay flat as the cold sends kisses down my skin curling
my toes as spasms ripple up my thighs thunder
roars within my hip bones digging
into spring mattresses and linty blankets I flit
between thoughts and fragmented dreams wandering
worlds behind caged teeth grating
breath and throat and tears seeping
open my eyes watch bangungot
on top of me, her
tears coating my skin in sweat
sigh flushing my cheeks
sending soft whispers of stolen homes and barren lands
of hurt from a thousand mothers who watched their children die before them
from political tantrums and power trips and genocide, she
wails for those afraid to speak and sits atop
sleeping bodies pressing the weight
of a million ghosts and their offspring and panic/crushing-holding hyp-
no-ti-zing
panic, in
fear i whisper
rest.