come: it is time (there is a story i will never tell)
i was 23 miles from memphis
standing/stood/still when
time became it’s own harbinger
i am & this will be:: delicate &
cleavingly to you me this one
(exhale) the softness of your hands
& something like the smell of snow
& maybe sometimes i know it’s hard
for all the noise static erratic littlehummingbirdheartbeat;!
& breathe!
don’t miss(take) me:
canyons as evidence that rivers have discourse deeply’
(consider the etymology of god)
detaching ego,
i broke the only mirror i had left
(awaken
it is autumn:
& so
you too must
begin)
licentious:: my skin at sacrament
i felt it in the pulse of the earth
& it was {soft}
your feet kicking up the sunlight
as dust: a railroad car over the precipice
& over again
winter is passing & each of us
must come & go in telling
& little bird, nothing (less)
never: the: less
& breathing to
b r e a t h e
i found it for myself, arms open
to communion- lips caught:: tongue
tracing in the veneration
of your name
by virtue of right
i held divinity in open hand::
your thighs a libation
breathe
{& belovéd when i closed my eyes
i left
my hands
in your
h a i r}
Heather Files can be described as a tumbleweed, most at home rambling across the country in her compact car. She has received a formal education but feels that her anecdotal experiences of life make for a more intriguing story. In March, Heather released a limited run of her debut DIY chapbook titled, {this flower is called heather}, and is set to release a spoken word album later this year. You can find more anecdotes, performances, and updates @sacrebleu.berry on Instagram.
