Breakfast at noon: mouthful of hibiscus leaves and peppermint tea.
I peel the tangelo sun apart, bless my feet with the petals, lay hands
on this accordion kinky nape, breathe ocean depths at my own touch:
oilslick, Great Barrier, healing. I have not tended myself in a week
blunted by lack of sleep and war the world wages on my joints.
I wonder, when brown girls/sunned grass/tree limbs dance,
if God sees our shuffling and spares us all. Perhaps I am the trembling
wick of Her Diwali lamp, perhaps we hold the same things sacred:
prayers learned and unlearned in lookoveryourshoulder alleys
bedrooms purged with smoke, laughter, and salt: that great purifier.
I wonder if she hears brown girls ask for days when the clock
ticks slow, so we can sit in sun and break fast at noon: unfurl
beneath a tangelo sun and a winking, restless moon.