Dialysis
I walk with my sister and we are young
And her knees are less broken; they swallow
petrel calls and soon we are
equivalent. I call these my oceans. I
shriek with my sister, we wished the
evenings would take our wolf-like sounds
and make us un-speeched.
We are straight and know the meaning of
artificiality. It is this:
jingoism, pesticide,
beaches steeped in rich, naked men.
I promise to protect my sister from optimism,
and together we are impatiently
consumed by mosquito thirst. When we grow
pale, I offer her dirty laundry,
grass stains. In her mind, she is already
past alternatives, and has forgotten
those rhythms. Beneath the ocean, I am
subdued and I am drowning in inanity
And there is a chain wrapped around my sisters
foot; really it is a snake. I am
bellowing the chains, willing her to acquiesce,
but she whispers to the snake,
sweetly, and it slackens, and she is walking
into naked beaches.
Copyright © Grace Zha | Year Posted 2015
|