“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.