Her brow is hot iron
and her cheekbones;
two curved birds
diving into each other
She is madness
and the fine feather endings of a flamingo
the girl will cut you,
and she did
Middle school made her metal
gave her
the supernatural ability
to flash back/
and forth
between woman/
and warrior
saint/
and wide open train ride
She will cut you,
and she did
And a thirteen-year-old girl
cannot be blamed for the blade
that she carries in her hand
It is Queens,
cinching in on her
like a spiked collar
blame the trainer
for her bite
blame the cousin
for her hatred
of monsters -I mean men-
blame the city
weighing down on top of her
blame the government
for the heat
and the loud pipes constantly churning
the innards of a giant machine
she can’t sleep
dreams can’t pass concrete
so reality becomes compacted
her mind becomes brilliant pathways
of exactly what’s in front of her
she’ll navigate every alley
step through every street
she will walk
with a strong back
and a chin that hits the sun
So when the monster returns
and wrenches her body open; torture
when he breathes like basement heat
She will go somewhere in her mind,
the pathways she’s carved
over time and pressure
She will follow them back
the doves will turn their backs in her cheeks
Her forehead will speak for her
all hell and welded armor
when your body is not yours-
when from a young age
you have leaned
to turn in on yourself
fold up like a star
you cannot be blamed
for what happens to you
your body is not yours-
you can shift
back into your limbs
like some ancient magic trick
you will learn over time, and circumstance
and that is the only reason why any of us survive
we find our temple
This city
will make you
find your temple
-Eden Connelly
