After Corinthians



and after you had given thanks tucking in

the soft verses of yourself becomes another metaphor



for that which was broken for you

for recalling



the things you had no words to

call yours



your body lifted up whole dissolve into another communion



long before now you had perfected the art of

recoiling unsung lost in silent halls



as an oyster running out of who it wants to be

you run out of a chance to be the ocean



in your mother’s house you hide

say you have lost directions to



home say you have

forgotten how to move say to no one



no one should forget to claim what is

theirs even in a whisper



in the tiny space for gratitude don’t you

ponder on what is not enough you touch you



& these days you ask for a lot of forgiveness

& your god stays amused