hempandhoney

i don't know where i'll go
with these holes in my feet.

before being born,
wet and warm,
wilting into morning,
a mess
of death.
carbon, dirt,
and carb holes,
my thumb,
a thread of breath,
unconscious.

your free flits,
and i meant to be.
you sluggish in the sun,
the burrow of your hip
bones, home to my
hands.

mother worth,
her tight stretched mouth,
her thin gauzy womb.
fourteen years and fear,
and all that's left is me,
my holy feet.
fight, flight, flee

flickers out to
free (that word so strange to me):
embers in the ash orange as sun.