“We, Made of Bone” by Mahtem Shiferraw These days, I refuse to let you see me the way I see myself. I wake up in the morning not knowing whether I will make it through the day; reminding myself of the small, small things I’ve forgotten to marvel in; these trees, blood-free and bone-dry have come to rescue me more than once, but my saving often requires hiding yet they stand so tall, so slim and gluttonous refusing to contain me; even baobab trees will split open at my command, and carve out fleshless wombs to welcome me. I must fall out of love of the world without me in it, but my loves have long gone, and left me in a foreign land where once I was made of bone, now water, now nothing.
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