wind pricks on skin
like teeth skidding across highways
and i grit my teeth and murmured
don’t
gnashed teeth and curled fingers
left wrinkled marks
and i held my heart in golden afternoons
and wondered when your breath
punctured the ridges of my strength
i kept asking god why i was not
made of inlaid stone
why i could not climb along the brow
of steep hills
i asked him why he tied
gnarled roots around my feet
why he coursed sputtered sighs
within my veins
in the end
i was made of ruffled sheets
and crimson gasps
i saw winter’s knuckles
whiten against heavy skies
coiled whispers lodged themselves
along the faults in the pavement
and wondered
why
