We wander round searching for demons
and making them of each other
when we find none. Out of feigned necessity,
the slightest difference becomes a reason
to tame—to vanquish—to stamp out until
we look up and catch sight of ourselves:
rock in hand and mark of Cain blistering
across our foreheads. Beneath us,
Abel fades away—Abels across time: the witch,
the bitch, the refugee, and LGBTQIA+. We grasp
at fading shoulders that crumble to dust. As will we—
return to dust, but first we must wander
with memories of fading light from eyes. Heavy
bones, dense and weary, we stumble through.
Each shape a mystery and a threat. Each shape
fallen, another death. Till we drudge our feet
over earth’s last inches. We did it all—we conquered
—and still we cannot rest.
Elisabeth Ivey, a writer and editor, explores themes of identity through race, gender, and mental health.
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