Court

a single memory of an explosion
teaches one to tip toe through grassy fields
unsure if it’s a minefield
look at me, ma
i always wanted to be a ballerina when i grew up
but trauma teaches quick steps
not how to dance

the only way out is through
but Heaven wasn’t supposed to be earned
through

every step

red carnations on the front seat
rainbow beads spilled across the Chevy floor

ok it’s not the two step
perhaps it’s donning a shield
battle plans whispered by the enemy
into the ears of the sovereignty seeker
bearing the weight of a battle helmet
crushing her curls

the green Angel bracelet was more
her grandmother’s taste
but the clasp held

maps and war strategies
spread on top of 2x4s
meant to hold nourishment
hot breath in her ear
“why do you carry a sword
you’re crazy
how will that help
when i’m going to suffocate you with lies
laced with poison
only you can detect”

turns out the emergency exit button
only works if you slam it
but there might be a landmine
stuck between two exit doors
battle cries echoing as sobs
while parking tickets are being written

maybe it’s not about winning a war
you tried to tip toe your way around
not ready to admit
you tried to grow raspberries
on a battlefield
(they’re persistent plants and it worked)

maybe it’s the whispers being revealed
for the poison they are

so Victors can safely inhale
standing in ripped jeans and crop tops
on a dandelion covered hill
her chorus drowning out
poison’s failed attempts

a mother’s body builds antibodies
and the only whispers are wind’s
Truth