Controversy is the tongue of snakes...

If tonight they make my hair raise the dead. I should go walking with my fragments made whole, and explain myself without trial from hypocrites harboring my old ghosts.

Unjustified torments in disregard to whom I truly became after being shoveled. He loves me for this.

 

I can see them sideways.

Within me, I rise again.

And again and again.

 

Because, the grass here is peripheral when my love is meddled with.

I feel it in my earth; freeing the noose of tied voices.

So now, I say the grapevine burns in my hearth petrified roots into full bloom from ashes.

Conundrum of vividly colored antidotes against straight lines, is a holy transgression into intangible eyes that is not questionable.

Do not…

 

My love and I see clearly.

 

For, the free verse scathing knobs is the hand of a woman scorned, adorning uncertainty with wisdom…

If you believe nothing else that my lover has proclaimed of our love, then believe this…

 

I heard you.

Even if you think I did not.

 

I can feel the pulsating notions of sharp edged echos to bludgeon our beliefs.

You must think we will not rise.

In union, my love and I will…

 

We see.

We hear.

I have adorned pain with wisdom from the graves of my sunny eyes after being shoveled…

 

He truly loves me for this.

 

© Mimi Caneda Mata