“No one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land.”
Warsan Shire
Somewhere near my tonsils
is a hole in the baseboard.
You were made to be escaped.
Back there, before I could swallow, choke,
introduce Your cancer into my feet or feelings
I found it.
And even if its jagged fray souvenired ribbons
of my flesh
I made it out and the wounds scabbed
and scarred to old maps
that could never lead to Me of here, of now.