the peas are in the ground and maybe it’ll work
this time. I kiss your shoulders and crack jokes,
one day on, one day off, just like our doctor said,
and when the clock reads 11:11
our fingers twine, and we hold on so tight.
downborder, they’re stealing bodies: put her in the dirt
and chant the words, she’ll do your furtive will. a million
Murder Legendre brides reduced to flickering black and white
haunted house inspections; a million colonial possessions.
downborder, they shackle women by the waist in case we miss the point.
it took us so long to be ready for this.
to feel it turn to bullets under my lips.
when i took your hand, my hand was mine.
it’s been a greyling spring, all rain, no relief in sight:
one day on and one day off. this year I’ll build a trellis
so the soft green leaves can climb, pea tendrils curious
as new fingers stretching wide. this year I build walls
that are secretly ladders, designed to overcome,
strategically constructed to let in the sun. to let you in,
chin high, arms wide, precaution circumspection set aside,
all of us waiting through the blood-daubed protest signs,
craning necks over knees to the flickering screens
waiting breath-held as the baton moves inside
to be cracked across the face with an open-handed joy.
