look at her little red fingers
   who was I to be, but an image
a caricature of the girl and the wolves

my arms are filled with cacti—
never mind the wounds, give me the water

what does it matter who you love
The predator and the prey have brown eyes

there is far more truth in footprints

show me the shape of yours
let me taste the dirt of every place you’ve been

there is an illness in your voice
more reliable than memories, my father told me

how many people have died for raising their voice?
how many more are willing to disappear
sacrificing the physical to echo our thoughts into the future

I’m opening a wound early in the morning
fingering it to the shape of a luna moth
I think I could create with every wound
      made in me
the ability to be god and nothing at the same time

the moths die inside my body but
they will never replace me.



with my consent he brushes lilac oil up my back
another day he holds my stomach in his hands
I can imagine him creating a world inside me.
at night I skinny dip into his mind

every lake is the color of my daydreams.

the flowers survive in my hair,
God must deem me worthy of creation.
if this beauty isn’t enough, I will have to
write him a letter. my prayers will not go unheard

not even heaven can chain my voice to my throat.

this is where the prisoner runs out of stones,
where the poet draws on her body for inspection,
it’s when the believer speaks the language of trees
where every word is meant to fall.

I no longer handle my body like polished redwood.
the sun bites marks into my skin, my past crawls out
to wave at strangers. absent is my rabbit heart, and
my vicious hound’s nose. this is where the insects fly home.

It’s a lonesome road, but
I walk in pace with the elephant.

PATRICIA CAMILLE ANTONY, or Camillea as she prefers to go by online, is a writer of mixed heritage. She has been published in Persephone’s Daughters, Scrittura Magazine, and The Rising Phoenix Review. She is also the author of the chapbook Heirloom, Flowers on the Moon, and Letters for Lucifer. Camillea can be found tucking love notes between the pages of her journals, or in the crevices of souls. If you are in need of some free love do stop by her Tumblr blog: amaranthinehours.