she.

Sheza T.

today, she is

burning fizz

in a mimosa,

but yesterday, she was

a clot of a secret

swelling under

midnight sheets, she was

maroon imprints on

tired knees, she was

strangers’ hands grazing

the protruding belly.

she was the heir to honey-slick, milk-lit black eyes like her father’s. once, she was

coral threads tethering

cradle to womb, lullabies woven in spit-up cloth, she was

crust on a blue collar, she was dawn vomit, she was

aching baby teeth.

today, she is

a waning moon,

a goodbye tucked in a bassinet, she is dead hyacinths and

the low creaks of the crib. she is shaky hands clasped

in a prayer. she is

the nauseating scent

of cerulean gloves

and bad news.

today, she is

burning fizz

in a mimosa,

trembling in

her mother’s glass—

the first sip

in four months.

Sheza T. is a teen poet and writer. Her work ranges from prose poems to haikus, and has been published widely.