if we all have to die, i do not want to exit
this house with bloodstains straddled to my dress.
the men step out of the dark and the moon
spreads its blood arteries across the land.
every morning, we visit the boneyard
with flowers saddled on our palms.
each grave neighbouring another grave
is a simulacrum of couples: birds trapped
midway into flight. we erect cairns
over each grave as grave markers
for lovers who had wildfires saddled
on their lips in place of tequila on their honeymoon.
tonight, rainwater undresses the sky
to make paths for blood straying the field.
in the graveyard, a raven perches on my father’s
grave, the crow sounds too close to my sister’s
grieve trapped between the thighs of men who wielded
the riffles. its claws sprout across the heap of brown
soil and i wonder how long until another
reminds me of my dead mother.