My blood, persistent as sugar, the slow spill

and collect of grains

why my sister says all the mosquitos
fill themselves at night.

I wake to fresh funeral mounds
on my legs

my blood dandelions the city
which is a field.

I pick up all the pieces, trace
the bloodline

through teashop and darkroom
come into the light

fingerless, unsure of what I have lost.
When I was a child,

I thought might actually be a butterfly.
I drank sugar water and waited to bloom.

Art by Usarae Gul