Aroace Girl with Kettles and Cradles

I make space for everyone and for every man’s anger
 
like lead in milk I know how to be invisible even to myself
 
come morning I’ll be girl again
 
but tonight I’m unchurched jawbone chewing sulphur from
 
a match for every time I’ve smiled in spite of
 
I shut out the mouths of everyone who wants
 
to feed from whatever teat they can find on me
 
I bow in a kitchen fulminated to such unfamiliar light
 
I tear my lips off so no words soften
 
my spine to salt—I slide my hand down to cradle
 
every name for the extinction I pull from between my thighs
 
loving no one but myself
 
I am so unconscionable
 
a heart boils in the belly of every kettle screaming like a baby
 
I will arrange all my locks
 
of hair on the floor and call them my periods
 
severed from the ends of sentences for people
 
all I’ve grown just to cut away