—with thanks to Jericho Brown

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I don’t hate my body until it’s noticed.
A man moves me with only his palm.

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When I move, I have only my palms
against my chest, swelling with the tide.

I swelled with the tide, and my grandmother’s
bones were still veiled with her quietest grief.

I unveil my bones, my quietest grief.
Truth be told, I’m afraid of shrinking like her.

Truth be told, I’m afraid of shrinking.
Pomegranates will exhale under a blade.

The pomegranate exhales under the blade;
I find her voice next to her favorite spoon.

I can still hear her voice near the spoons.
There’s only love, and my body notices.