Xaviera Hernandez
we were once friends
but now your words are nails
hammered into wooden planks
(do you feel the splinters
grafted into your palms?).
slowly, you build a box
around me: my height in length,
enough space for one embrace.
you pour the dirt over me.
my words are cotton balls inside
my throat. i stare at you
until the choking earth
blocks you from my sight.
