I mean Russian nesting dolls / I mean someone who has spoken for me // if I could leave gender out of it I would
Here in the blueness it is interlaced, a story / about nothing, // suspended across the breadth.
Two sisters, birthed from the fissure where land twists violently into a muddy, wet gash. The first, a ragged form, watching from the trees.
In this, I too become a daughter of Sarkhan. A baptism by flecks of river water, by two cold hands that reach to grip my own.
