Small Mercies
by Venus Knowles
Instead, can I pretend to be
a blossoming of flowers? A lilly
concrete in the center of my
chest. One foot's already
six feet underneath soil, so let the
other heel join it. In my solemness
I remind myself of the times I
wanted to die, a small
mercy against an onslaught of
horrors - oakwood grows
as a weed against my arms, bark brown
against my skin. There is beauty
in the act of turning tree. In nature
poems that aren't, not really,
about nature. The bluejay outside
of my window knocks thrice
as a reminder: stay
alive, stay alive, stay alive.
Venus Knowles (she/they) is a Black lesbian poet residing in New York, but is originally from Atlanta. Their work touches on the liminalities of everyday life, and sometimes focuses explicitly on the natural world around us. Her work has been heard across a few open mics in the city, and can be found in Ballast Journal, Little Patuxent Review, and other magazines. When she’s not writing poetry, Venus can be found at her local knitting group or in various libraries.
