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Chimera–Vievee Francis

She’s not “maternal,” she’s dangerous.

—Jamaal May

I have no charms. Admittedly. No gold comb can move through This mane. My skin is not translucent. Mine is a tail to fear. I know. And though a mother may destroy, She too sees fit to create beauty That would eventually grow into forms I would swallow if I gave in To my hungers. But, up from my wounds— From this goat’s body— Up from my wood-smoke lungs, from The milk of me, comes a song, a melody To open yours, then lick them clean.

Photo by Orlando Madrigal on Unsplash