By James Asava
Once my body was a plum, a purple bruise
from my umbilical cord. Broken from
stairs I've fallen down, my cousin
shattered me like a vase in my
deceased grandmother's house.
I knew how to get a concussion
before I knew how to tie my shoes.
We are not born a clean canvas.
There is always something on us,
Like a dent on a car, a scalloped
cup unable to hold.
How am I supposed to wash
these shrunken clothes without
any water?How am I supposed to wash
my head when I can't see