Tell me my body can tell time
Hours stretching like fabric over my hips
Honeydew skin peeled and ground into sand
That falls along my shoulders
And when my waist swells with motherhood
With glass forged from honeydew sand
in the hearth
in my belly
My daughter can learn to grow with the harvest
A blueberry in the summer
And when her sapphire skin breaks with the pulse of a thumb
She will spill out, staining her oppressor’s hand
Her bruised fruit will drip to the ground below
Planting roots in a soil full of shards—the minute hand, the hour
She’ll tell me her body can tell time
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