Three Poems

We will have transformed, branching fully into the space weinhabit and have inhabited for years without knowing thatit, too, was for us and that we were always already free.We will have taken our song into form, holding fire in mouthflaming into exquisite orange golden words. Our bruisedspines blossoming fragrant tendrils, breathing deepinto shadow into stories hidden under layers of dust and storiesonce deemed more worthy of telling. Our wordthe invention of escape, of recovering through roots long plantedin dry earth. We will have bloomed from red clay, from sand,from silty loam, each instance a substantiation of breath and sporeexpanding beyond blood, species, and state. We will have pressedthrough the cracks, danced into open songspilled freely from lips spooling promise into practicewords from those who were supposed to be silentthose of us—all of us—who spent so long without light.Rock‐lined expectations give way toletting go cutting ties with hopefor a different endingmountainsideencouragement to grow into sun‐dappledfields propagate where rich soil callshere is the here I would have knownwaiting alreadynow I do pluck itpearl‐heavy to hold in palms place inmouth and swallowa seed holding a wetlandinside a cedar chest inside menow vininggreen from belly a wormhole of surrenderof answering pink to further fieldsYears ago someone dreamt me notanybody daughtered a place‐holderrather than personspent a half‐lifewrapped in that filmy gauze anobstructed waiting to take placeablaze I sing now through fingersblossom words into bodyspike flowers a brilliant swordbirthed into a cadreof those who left those who sawdarkness all‐encompassingand turnedcome take root in this prairie togetherthis gathering of bee and bright