about a thing a black woman says
happened to her, possibly,
don’t know unless someone other
than her saw, of course.

I forgive her though she will never seek it

though she will never seek woman in me

will never see me and say
woman.

I attempt to draw a line down myself
where my being black and woman
begin, end, spiral

sever the spin from the top
deciding just to hear the whir of it

everything about her is everything about me
until only one of us can be halved at once
and then

girl, you know you know

let the choir sing

throat slit

suckling