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
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
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
