for hundreds of years
i am given the gestures of freedom without birds the hush of mist
awakening on my bones

my marrow is cotton & tobacco
my body a crop on mornings of mist it wants to become trees ancient
as they begin i make the mist a prayer for myself

for hundreds of years i am given the gestures of freedom
my marrow is pith & sebum my mother would sell me for his upright
community standing i become tree turning down blossoms list
off my branches petals sidewalk mush brown

shy already his eyes slither to my untrained breasts in every photo i have hair in face & arms
folded teased for wearing sweatsuits in the summer my sister is bound fear & loose
rage
nerves whipcracking in every direction

my marrow is sharecropped for hundreds of years
i am given the gestures of freedom my body
sold by the white woman who birthed me
dropped lure for the brown skin she desired how close
did she let him cum before switching
the bait?

for hundreds of years i am given the gestures of freedom storied escapes rags
of early fog & quiet between tree & tree holding me close as mist they
welcome me
into silhouette through water towards
stars my marrow is ferment

i could walk into these woods
& vanish

Contributor Notes

Lisbeth White is a writer and healer. After obtaining her BFA in Creative Writing at University of New Mexico, she hit the Northern California coast to complete her Master’s degree in Expressive Arts Therapy. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Visitant Lit, Winter Tangerine, Obsidian: Literature & Arts in the African Diaspora, and the upcoming anthology Fire and Rain: Ecopoetry of California. A 2016 Pushcart prize nominee, Lisbeth is also an alumna of Blue Mountain Center’s residency program as well as VONA and Callaloo Creative Writing workshops. She’s currently part of the Gemini Ink Mentorship with Barbara Ras and completing her first collection, which explores healing the wounds of displacement and trauma within the context of wilderness and connection with the natural world.