Quietly Uncertain

• Danielle Southcombe, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2015

With every pin prick and small cut of an opening
There only oozes blood
A sweet mix of dark red over swollen, blue skin
Puddles in my fits, I clench them but I'm not angry

I'm only here to howl at the moon
In an open field, without bones setting under me
Further into the wet grass
The crunch and crack of nature beneath my weight

Roots weave down deep into the earth
Intertwine with every suspicion of a better place
An unsure, unopened affection
Internally bleed to be raw and reeking

After all this death and trash
I wind my fingers against the sky
A language never taught
never unlearnt