To Do in California

Illustration by Philip Manghihilot

These hands are not mine
I borrow them from
Moments the ground stops
Shaking loose my tendons
And the lace I weave
Into my skin

But when my knees succumb to devotion
I pray not that the tremors stop
Or for my feet to braid into the soil
Or for hands to rise where my wrists are blank
But only that my lace holds
The lace Father drummed into my flesh
And Mother could only teach me to bleach
And wraps over my stubs
And unravels, I believe
When the ground quakes, I believe

These hands are not mine
But when mine return
I will pound the ground into submission