Gina Lee

On the Line with My Therapist

i pricked my finger on a phone and it bled into the receiver
survival

i hung upside down from a tree and told her, a woman as 
brown as i, the world was alright        i was making a way

a squirrel running on the ceiling of rose-cracked concrete 
my soul radiated with the magnesium of okra 

the moon poured his shadow over the wounds of my heart 
and i jumped from water to land in order to suffocate 

that i might appreciate the bleak privilege of breathing 
in a polluted ocean

the magic of the ancestors pounding nails into my eyes
leaves no feeling of pain        and 

when i cry it’s duty so our country doesn’t fall into drought
some kind of witchcraft must keep me alive

because in truth, i’m not supposed to survive
she said, “very good        talk soon”

i pulled myself upright and let my heart break over a full moon
and the world fell back to chaos

i drove my car slow blasting Kendrick Lamar flashing 
candy paint and gold teeth at        petty pedestrians