The Aborigine, Gus, who goes by the name of place that knows no name, he brought me here. no face no fear no attachment no then no that Feel pulled as an ocean that left salt moving topaz blue deposits in remembrance on shins and elbows, lied down during the forest, buffalo grass smells like aloe and donkey tail cactus hoarding water to comfort itchy skin talking to my back.
Rabbits wonder why the squirrels stare at me flow does the river where only the channel catfish know my name as I swim.
Given back to the boomerang scented by the spring lilac that hid me until summer tiger lilies dismounted from the backs of lightening bugs. I stood facing her, the deer whistled to come home It was time to make the dance of bear. A thump and pain made me human physical in place that had no words It must thump and pump So the liver must focus transporting the voice I have become.
– Rachelle Bose