This body is the site of memory.
Riddled with shame and mystery.
Stories hidden like oysters
to be prised open from reluctant
lips and hands and hearts.
This broad brown back bares
history’s heavy weight.
Shame folding in on itself
for what we have no control over.
This body is stolen territory.
It’s gonna take the rest of our lives
to reclaim ownership.
To belong between this high
shine, bruised and batter flesh.