I am the baby
erased
from every war
story. The wish
empty in Father’s
hands. Our cord torn
by razor
wire, skies of violet
plasma. I sense
boredom
in mosquitoes, the itch
beneath skin. Fall asleep
to the rake
of Topaz
wind, desert willows
bending over
the stone tablet
of earth. Nighttime
my body curled—
slashed by
the quarter
moon. Waves of heat
and waiting. My lips
on a bottle’s nib,
sand in
the face, Mother
stooped over
stairs, always
rocking me.
from SeizeFind more by Brian Komei Dempster at the library
Copyright © 2020 Brian Komei Dempster
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.