Small Wingless Creatures

by Anna Ruiz

We come into this world small wingless creatures,
and someone washes us of our mother’s blood,
we cry out
and open our lungs to breathe
and somehow a tiny fist is large enough
to hold fast a parent’s heart,
strong enough to form loose bonds
that will tear apart mind and body,
wrest a spirit from a soul,
and life is lived
in the loam of earth
on the broken back of
selfish dreams

a dreamer must awaken before
the mouth is frozen in silence

and the blood dries with the spittle
and the days are counted in stone.