By Doriana Diaz
1. i’ll send mami a message through the atmosphere so we can join hands in the air.
her hands made of milk. my hands made of rust.
2. we will pray on the blood. the stitches will unravel. chills curling my tailbone. like a ritual that remembers without a reminder.
3. i will stick my tongue in mamis belly and lick the perimeter of her tissue walls, and for awhile i will let the taste linger in the very back of my mouth for safe keeping.
4. i will give mami my body today and what she does with it will be none of my business.
5. mami will give me hers and the same rules will apply.
6. i will plant a garden on top of where the hurt stared.
7. a bed will be made for us in the bleeding hut. we will lay in it together for siesta, backs on the mattress, tracing the angles on the ceiling and warming one another’s bodies with love.
8. i will reach my bare hands inside her and pull out a butchered hen. the stomach will be cut open with the eggs floating in an orange juice.
9. well cook the hen, mami will turn me over the smoke of the fire to release me from fear.
10. the distance between mamis wrists and mine will shrink.
11. before the dawn rises we will walk to the riverbank and rub our skins in ingceke.
12. my womb will become free.
13. we will kiss our own bellybuttons
14. we will kiss each other’s belly bottoms.
15. mami will give me her blessing.
16. we’ll start by draining water from my belly and the sacred passage way will reopen in commemoration.
17. light will spew from every opening.
18. mami and i will walk into the water and sacrifice ourselves like the igbo people, unbinding ourselves from captivity.
19. at night we will feast on feathers, ash and sugar.
20. the bed where it happened is where we’ll sleep.