by Kiyanna Hill
for her i work my devotion
into my body i wear holes
into the knees of my jeans sweep white-dusted ceiling fans
i show sincerity root the clusters
to my scalp for her i balance
my weight to silence the caving stairs
(meaning)
i commit to my body’s unsteadiness
i build muscle in my right calf
for her i drown coffee in whole milk and cane
sugar i flood into all the things she has
eclipsed my body is an accent
my body is an ending for her unfinished sentences
i dedicate her hunger to my rising chest
i parade into her mouth i cleave her words
for us i ghost a new fable
Kiyanna Hill is a Black writer. She is left handed. Her work can be found in Porter House Review, Brave New Voices, Peach Mag, and elsewhere. Her poetry chapbook A Damned House and Us In It is forthcoming from Variant Literature.
Emerge Literary Journal 