resurrection as a verb for love
i love you because you let
me kneed jojoba
paste on top of the dead skin
around your ankles.
i turned nocturnal to hear
you mumble about shipwrecks,
gravediggers, and going mad.
you became the moon.
i counted every birthmark,
put mud into your
stitches, and held your hand so
that you could die right.
free like the afterglow of
stars dancing over the sea.
free like before the cancer.
like how i loved you.
secure me in a prayer
when the moon came, my body dropped into
the sheets like sandbags filled with beach and bones.
i called you instead of an ambulance --
i didn’t want my eyes to roll back and
only find white tubes and dirty needles.
i didn’t want to leave alone and strange.
i called because i needed a healing
that sinks deeper than flesh wounds and mind rot.
i needed a prayer to rid me of
this ache that haunts me and keeps haunting, some call
it living, but i’m done with it. ready
to be free and weightless wildfire like god.
jamilla vandyke-bailey (@alli.maj) is a pro-black feminist poet and essayist. her poetry chapbook, “than we have been,” (Weasel Press, 2022) and her full-length book of poetry, “the womxn,” (Finishing Line Press, 2023) are currently available for purchase.
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