KIYANNA HILL
click here if you fear
your mother & her multiplied shadows. did you
write broken spells on wrinkled slips of paper?
you confuse growth for fullness, thinking all
things consumed must bloom at some point. did
you hold your hands out, palm upward towards
the sun? did she tell you the sun smolders &
only heals if you cross your legs? you find
another dirty reflection in another dirty mirror.
actually, did she teach you to clear dust with an
old shirt – first horizontal, then up/down, then
look away? that wasn’t a lesson on order, it was
an order. do you confuse broken for possibly
fixed or possible to fix? man after man, you
sink in bath water. post break up, never
checking to see if something loved is missing.
daughters like you keep mementos: a bundle of
dried lavender, a shoe from the first second or
third runner. do you still have a harbor of spells
in your belly? do you hold your body to keep
them precious? if you answer yes to one
question, the result: your mother’s shadow is
your shadow. you have the same cold
footprints. you both whisper:
know, no;
praise, prays;
plum, plumb;
call, how?
Kiyanna Hill (she/her) is a Black writer. She is left handed. She prefers black coffee but will have an oat milk latte if she’s feeling fancy. Her work can be found in Porter House Review, Brave New Voices, Peach Mag, and elsewhere. Her debut poetry chapbook A Damned House and Us In It is forthcoming from Variant Literature.