Kirstin Wusomewhere a door opens like a body & I am open too,but still breathing. outside, the sky, an aqueous shadow.somewhere the streets are lacquered duckskin red &the waters have risen, remembered their first name.somewhere, the bleach-smell is gone & amā is fryinglà jiāo with her fearless brown hands. I am not crying.somewhere it is June & my hands are sunflowers in thehonest length of the afternoon. it is no longer terrifying,somewhere, to be a whisper on cruel land. to crawl thishalf-shadow of skin; its snake-shifting, its un-grown green.somewhere, I open my lips & it just sounds like openingthe window after rain, & all the wide light pouring in. look,somewhere: like the sun’s mouth, I have painted the wallsfor you. sweetest blood of me, look, here is our all possible.