by Francesca West
Walking on the childhood grasses, Barefoot and bleeding.
Eyes attracted to a shimmering ocean
Of glass shards, gleaming.
While I’m finding my way in this moment,
I’m picturing myself smiling at the sun,
Both of us beam proud, we’ve both won.
But without looking up
I only draw on the warmth of high feelings.
While I try to get outside the sounds
Of others’ screaming.
I am bleeding.
Knowing it’s what we step on that stabs,
But we could never avoid this land we grew up
Getting to have.