Member Poem

I did not know it was a river until I tried to swallow, immediately choking
on the current and confusion and thinking that I never should have left home,
thinking of all of the fences I used to jump over, spent whole days
wandering in restricted areas until I was caught, because I was always caught,
and ran home shrieking and laughing and every time my mother was so mad
 
and I did not know that fledglings were so fragile until feather light bones
crumpled between my fingers and my sister cried and cried and cried that day,
wrapped the broken bird in a handkerchief, laid it down lightly in a cigar box.
I only wanted to hold a heartbeat in my hands, only wanted to feel
the red-hot pulse beneath my blue-veined skin
 
and I did not know the house was made of straw until all of the walls
were tumbling down around me, the roof collapsing in during the very first storm,
burying me beneath a full, scratchy weight like the mazes as a child in October when
I gave up halfway through, sat in the middle of hay bale darkness crying
until my sister came to get me, led me out on hands and knees
 
and I did not know that he was poison until my breaths were coming out in
gasps and I was coughing up blood all over new white sheets because
I didn’t know to keep my lips shut tight, venom slips through in all forms like
honey down my throat or scaly promises snaking in through clenched teeth,
crash-landing on my tongue, settling like graffiti on the walls of my cheeks
 
and I did not know that place was home until I was already too many miles away,
bought a one-way ticket to a place where rivers masquerade as
water fountains, waiting for the people like me who never learned to know better
to take a small sip, to watch our eyes widen and our throats constrict.
I never learned to look before I leapt, no matter how many times I fell headfirst
 
I do not know why I’m always waking up with skinned knees and people
looking at me with eyes filled to the brim with anger and disappointment and
hurt I’m lying at the bottom of the riverbed swallowing and swallowing and
swallowing and wondering if I will ever be able to drink the whole thing down,
thinking of how much I would have liked to hear that little bird sing