Sunday was turned inside out
like a favorite sweater abandoned to shadows.
Expected comfort, the monotone of routine
became a scream in the cocoon of my wingless day.
There was no escape in a Zombie world of locked doors
and words funneled through lips wearied by counting days.
Stay safe, stay safe, stay safe… It’s crowing rant squawked
from the nest built of torn hours rooted in the back of
my mind.
Madness sat its chair in my palms taunting me with
careless
until my ancestor spirit tapped my spine with drumbeats.
Gnashing teeth and broken eye tears pulsed freedom
into the wounds I’d handcuffed to my spirit.
With fingers pressed against the river of my pulse
I let hope into the dark mirror I’d lived in for months.
