my words are a predestined manifesto
not ones that were written in stars
ones that were carved in stone

She asks with sincerity. Her body curled on the chair like she needs to protect her body from even the invocation of the H-word at her dining table.

You have to not
think about whose blood it is
dressing your route home

Your body is the world,

Mountains and valleys.

when day fades into night
and you’re lost in a sea of black-leather jackets
you open your mouth to scream
and only air comes out

My name was never Mary. There was no stained glass in the hospital.