As I take in quiet breaths, my body shifts these leaves
Still I move in silent grace for I was born of thieves
Yes, this here flesh is more than just a cage for sin and need
Still my instincts stay steely sharp because every animal bleeds
I make good fire that brings good heat, but heat curves all the lines
And even so, hunger has a way of consuming all else on our minds
So then as one hand grasps a crest, two fingers will trace the bow
And the thrum of a new bass will beat against my bones
I keep watch of shifting muscle beneath distant pelted skin:
No, I do not hunt to kill—and yet I still must eat to live
- Cierra Lowe-Price, 2021