After Dami
i.
forget the sound of your own name
hitting the apex of a thousand tongues,
it carries too much of what they wanted.
let it rot in the cracks of their teeth.
ii.
throw out the mirrors,
they will never show you the shape
of forgiveness on your face.
iii.
gather the bodies you hid in crawlspaces,
underneath the bed, in the dishwasher,
inside your throat & set them on fire in the front yard.
watch the smoke christen you something
fuller, weightier, kinder.
iv.
return to the mouth of your mother
& bite the first word she gave you till it splits.
chew it slowly & spit what no longer fits.
take from her & make your own word—
one that touches the world like a fingertip pressed into wet concrete.
v.
love what moves you even if it is small,
even if it vanishes. tie it around your rib cage,
baptise it with blood.
vi.
rest.
you do not have to make sense
of every little breaking.
stories walk in reverse.
some endings are born first.
