by Khadija Santana
I confess that I fold my solemnity
That my anguish regresses
In fear that the warm palm will soon sting
Cold, bitter, frozen lakes spring amongst my veins
Riddled by mysteries that are invisible
Filling the air with an empty content
Crestfallen, lost in spurious or loving
arms that I cannot recognize
Will you braid my hair or pull the strands?
Does the glow appear or have I looked into a heart shaped hatch?
Clinging to each link, bonded by the chore of love.
I confess that I fold my solemnity
That my fright regresses
As parted lips teach me how to start my own fire
And so I light my palm
A rally of heat shields me
Four palms start bigger fires.
