A Poor-trait-less Portrait

When I say I want a body
like an hourglass, I mean:
a body that can
stop time,
tell time,
feel time.
I want fingers like band-aids
so I can heal
any hand that I hold.
Give me a heart like a stingray.
So I don’t have to put up warning signs
Beware: Touch gently,
Or not at all.
Give me a stained glass tongue,
of red apple & golden knife.
Sharpened, too.
Daisy birthmarks to remember my roots,
vocal cords like waterfalls that don’t freeze in the winter,
and hair so soft it is mistaken for a whisper.

While we’re at it—
honey melon lips
birdcage ribs
angel wing lungs.
And yes, last,
feet that never forget
where they’re from.

—By Mila Cuda