porcelain sun

dark curls bounce with each skip

skinned knees peer through torn jeans

welcoming the sun with their scarlet stained teeth

its rays kiss my skin and I kiss them back

asking “what do you have for me today, my love?”

through the gaps in my smile

the hand of my mother swallows my own

porcelain skin drawn taught

her smile is warmer than that of the light overhead

and tastes of chamomile

“come on, angel, come sit with me for a while”

her hands tend to wounds that are not her own

and braid hair that snakes around her fingers when she touches it

she dries tears that have not fallen down her own cheeks

and reminds me that though it is just us

we are not alone

and that for every inch that has been taken

she will give a mile

porcelain skin, while firm and soft

houses bones that collapse under any sort of pressure

they crack and ache and yet she still holds firm

her strength unwavering

dark curls no longer flow free

the porcelain woman that brought them forth

has not touched them in months

stubbornness and the need to feel grown

emphasized by a single black band

her patience wears thin

as does mine

and the miles that we have built together

are slowly broken down

into

single

millimeters

of

empty

space

to piece them together

they are squeezed

pressed

kneaded

by an unmarked hand

­gapped teeth slowly straighten themselves

the tongue trapped behind straight white bars is unforgiving

she takes most in stride

and waits patiently

a slow collapse

and the realization

that nothing more than taking has been done

a slow rebuilding

the blossoming of a flower unlike anything seen in their garden before

dark curls welcome the touch of doll like fingers

whispering how much they missed them

as they curl around the porcelain woman’s digits

that chamomile smile reminds me of skinned knees

and torn jeans

and of the promise that was made in my youth

it is returned with a vow of its own

that though it is just us

we are not alone

and that for every inch that I have taken

I will return to her a mile

dark curls bounce with each stride

scarred knees stand strong against dark skin

screaming their truth to the world as they move alongside more pallid ones

they’re slower now but still full of an undying youth

“hello, old love,” I whisper

my hand swallowing her own

ebony skin drawn taught; fingers curled gingerly around her love

there are no longer gaps in my smile, but it is recognizable

I close my eyes and turn it toward the sun

“it’s been a while”