Inside me
is a Flores Island
woman.
In my hand,
an Achulean hand ax
can do
more than a few things.
I think in hers it could've too.
My body, like hers,
through war and childbirth,
wants to continue.
Yet, I'll bet,
she didn't know
the mosquito
still kills 10 percent
of all of us.
A leg,
submerged,
is
electrolysis,
brings fire
into water,
resets volumes,
changes molecular.
My body
longing for another time,
remembers
land under till
remembers more,
Flores cousin,
than I have words for.
