My knees have known Bruises.
A spectrum of colour staining my skin as a
Pigments of who I am, altered at their
Fists clenched to strike, clench, imprint.
Each stain a bolt, a language seeping into
my essence; teaching.
My ribs have known bruises.
Painted, I am every female ancestor face
first in the dirt.
My throat has known bruises.
I never felt so transparent as I did wearing
lesions beneath a high collar.
Fading, my shell returns, burying the real
wounds beneath it.
But I am wiser.
Healed I am every female ancestor face
towards the Sun.