shame is something other people give to you - by Veronica Habashy

Shame is something other people give to you by

by Veronica Habashy

At the fulcrum of the small vertebra, a small flower is sprouting.

Atlas is an alien,

dizzy with a solitary feeling.

While the sound of scraping knees floods the playground, I am scrubbing my knuckles behind the window

Hot water is better for cleaning.

I know because every night I purge myself in the scorching bath

Stand beneath the icy shower head to make sure I’ve rinsed off as much as I can.

I am always careful not to let the dirt of my skin smudge against something precious— white jasmine flower, plain jute rug, granite countertop—

Because who wants to cry in front of others?

Children are crude and fleeting, but

Shame is worn like a mole acquired in the careless days of sun play.

All that matters is that your cheeks are rosy so that I know you are joyful.

Don’t hide beneath the oak,

You know that the nettles are never worth it.