suck the venom from the wound
and I would summon ancient gods
stories, my body craves
stories that only forests now can tell
all other bodies
drained of the words
puncture wounds
conspicuous and silent
my grandmother says
I would have been a water witch
mutilated
my deeper forms
muted
my older prayers
mutated
my original medicine
in the caverns of my body
where the stories once lived
I etch deranged on the walls
who will burn stephen miller at the stake?
alone with the language of rage and snakes
my grandmother says
I would have been a water witch
