When was I born, I tremble to ask You
I cannot think of the years before as alive

the sweetness of snow angels folded into
dangling arms of plastic friendship bracelets stretched out to
gum-snapping-shrugged-nothings

and then I thought I was born
to meet a beaming stranger asking
did you write that poem about palestine?
they’re passing it around campus, did you?

a balm of words to soothe
angry quips to embolden chipped shoulders
to run an apothecary – that was why I lived
to run a paintbrush around the shaded
and the shadowed, color electrified

but suddenly I was growing white peonies
folding white diapers into freshly painted spaces
slowly shrouding the discovery
the day you are born, you begin to die

no need to get weary
as I step out of these shrouds
to climb a hidden step once more

You placed them there long before I was born
and so again and again I climb

And it is within His power to bring about a second life. (53:47)

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