WEBVTT

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1994.

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I was leaving my 58th
year when a thumb of ice

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stamped itself near my heart.

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You have your own story.

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You know about the fear, the
tears, the scar of disbelief,

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You know the saddest lies are
the ones we tell ourselves.

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You know how dangerous it
is to be born with breasts.

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You know how dangerous
it is to wear dark skin.

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I was leaving my
58th year when I

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woke into the winter of
a cold and mortal body.

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Thin icicles hanging off,
the one mad nipple weeping.

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Have we not been good children?

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Did we not inherit the Earth?

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But you must know all about this
from your own shivering life.

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