it was weeping over a fawn that wandered away
from its mother among the pine trees.
Amber spots that looked like an extension of the stars,
damp-eyed and bewildered,
shuddering at the hunters' snares.
But the beast was afraid of losing its momentum
and she leapt at her prey like a switchblade.
The first time I saw my sister cry,
she was in fear of the bear trap between her thighs
that was buried to hunt forsaken children.
A belly full of poetry and a heartbeat full of songs,
a nameless face with rhythms that mocked her –
it could taste the soil that stained her hands.
But she hummed apologies over and over again
until it came out like survival.
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