After Vicki Idema
You are cut from a thin sheet
of tissue paper. You did not ask for it.
Hands filigree you with suns and star-trails.
Hands blister you with flowers. You asked for none of it and yet
here you are, rinsing the daybreak through your damaged parts
like they were templates for the opposite of shadows.
Everywhere you go with your dahlia skin,
flowers bloom in midair. And everywhere you linger
with your body punched full of heaven, the sky fractures
into a mosaic of hope. You are more than you
hoped. Your mouth is sown
with asking.
–
Sheila Dong is the author of Moon Crumbs (Bottlecap Press, 2019). Their work has appeared in SOFTBLOW, Heavy Feather Review, Juke Joint, Stone of Madness, and Rogue Agent, among other places. Sheila holds an M.F.A. from Oregon State University and lives in Tucson, AZ.