Kitchen smells like garlic
your back, tied up in holy knots
your lip got cut in a fight
but I told you hold back your sword
on those black nights you can’t see
the moon for squinting, trying

Days bent over vinyl booths
and I went back to work for you
Daddy held up the rent money real quick
heard I was running with a black boy
and I cut my ties for you

Now you come, stand over the bed
curse me, you’re brave, aren’t you
soldier still knows how to fight
but wouldn’t know his woman
if he crawled between her thighs
and she bit him on the cheek

So take me, spitfire and all
I won’t go down white flag
and if you think I’ve ever loved a man
face the color of the moon
then I hope you find your prayers answered
in someone else’s book – pages torn
rippled by seawater

In a dream you came, powerful and strange
as sable evening skies
took me in your arms and held on
safe enough for kissing sinless lips
and I cried out for you

Commend me to my kind lord


Clare Higgins is a junior at the University of Michigan, studying film and creative writing. She has been awarded for her poetry and screenwriting at U of M, and has work published in university publications “Xylem” and “The RC Review” as well as John Hopkins’ “Zeniada”. She will soon move to L.A. and plans spend her days crafting stories for the screen and jostling her way into the film industry. Reading and writing poetry keeps her human.