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​A. A. Vincent

they write you feral

how do i tell them i have survived 
deeper gardens under snow & rain
how does rain fall upwards like the
privilege to fail up a ladder of your 
own choosing i don’t think i have 
ever known what it’s like to sabotage 
myself into goodness or goodwill 
if they desire me feral & say my name 
in a tongue i don’t recognize but still 
have to answer how do i take back 
the letters they refuse to muscle into
their proper place not a correct place
according to them & the way they feel
like there aren’t a million ways to be
 sensible about the way i am 
silenced into a smile & a quiet dying
when they try to uproot me into submission
& why do i have to empty the potted 
plants every time i want to move & 
where does the rebellion rest
how do i harness my body to save 
myself first & not the garden or the hilltop 
how to domesticate the shell a wild home​

S. Erin Batiste
A.A. Vincent is a disabled poet and essayist from Chicago. Her work has appeared in Santa Clara Review, Quiet Lightning, Street Sheet SF, and SF Weekly. She holds an MFA in Writing from the University of San Francisco.
Art: Public Domain
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