The groves we wandered through
in our youth
have all begun to bleed into
and I no longer know whether
is safe to wade in or if we’ve stepped
into the outstretched arms of private
two kids threatened to fill our bodies
said we’d never be heard from again.
I still hadn’t learned how to use my voice,
that the burning in the back of my throat
begging to break the shackles of silence.
to that spitfire savior, the firecracker
face-to-face with fear, danced
and showed us how to navigate a world
of wayward woodlands
and ill intentions.