thirteen ways of stepping towards your fury

one: fill your sleeping sheets with garden dirt; scatter pebbles

to remind yourself that rootedness doesn't mean comfort.

two: let injustice run its tongue down your jawline. hold the grimace

you swap for smiling when surviving. scheme.

three: conjure four men whose fortunes are only outpaced by their cruelty.

four: consider the way dried blood would still a flag in the wind.

five: do not let yourself go hungry.

six: gather the young you who lives in the crosshairs of your shame.

carry her to shelter and promise you'll be back when the war is over.

seven: block out all the shouting. let a different song bury itself

in your palms: weeping. begging. the near-silent whine of a child's terror in the dark.

eight: wear the right boots.

nine: seek and learn what was kept from you. what truths your mother's tongue twisted. what stories were buried with the bodies you were never supposed to name.

ten: learn the names.

eleven: the bridge will burn once you cross. there will not be an easy way back.

twelve: save a pocket for whatever roots you to righteousness. it will be your only way back.

thirteen: open. your. eyes.