Palm Lines & Wrists

Photograph by @jseigar

I did not come to challenge the sky; I came to fall through it,

I came to bloom in the craters on your skin,

To infest the gaps between your teeth.


I came to swing from your pain,

To build the home between your fingernails.


I’ve come to knit poems into your knuckles,

To dance your hand out of a fist.


I’ve spent Sundays fishing regret from the islands between your fingers,

Dusting the voices of all your lost lovers from the hollow in your palm lines,

I’m lighting fires with the branches you have carved into your wrists.

You did not come to all through the sky,

You forged allegiance and displaced it.


Sunk its face into the reflection on the ocean to uproot it,

You littered apologies into the sinkholes beneath my palms,

And wrote yourself into the flesh behind my palm lines.


You came to fold cement into the prayer beads on my fingers,

And spent years planting shards of glass into the soft parts of my fists,

Do you still marvel at the bloodbath of my touch.

The following poem is written by two young South African poets,

who write under the alias - Yamoria.

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