Resurrection – Anna Allen


You pulled me from the graveyard

Toes first

It was difficult to take a breath

A mouth full of dark, compact dirt

But I did it for you

Where did you go for so long

I part-way understand

Getting lost in the creases of one’s own brain

But a single flower would’ve been nice

Sorrow for your loss

Throw a little extra cemetery dirt upon my heart

Walk across the bottom of my gravesite

And not at the top

Where the head rests

But I’ve done everything you’ve told me to

Nearly tripped on my floor-sweeping hair every morning

Skipped over shards of glass

Donned my hair shirt

Whipped myself on the spine

Until I drooled and spoke inconsistencies


Every thing

And still

And still

You stayed away for years

And I was certain I had been replaced

Some small porcelain thing

Some actual angel with a positivity that exists as

Sure as the moon falls

Pink nails , the perfect

Pink for a girl her age

Her age,

Younger than me

Unsoiled and untouched by tragedy

Therefore, unmoved by suicidaility

And you,

Saved from my persistent drowning and partial death

Drowned underground, engulfed

In a casket designed just for me

I smelled you before I saw you

An overcast of a scent

An overcast of a girl

Some cotton candy and bubble gum

But underneath that, your scent

Clove cigarettes and red clay

I remember when you carried my

Scent on you

Raindrops in coiled hair and blood or aluminum

You were drenched in it and

The chemicals between us was


But when you pulled me from the graveyard

Covered in innards and tongue

And teeth

And lips

The white dress

The one my mother insisted I wear

Even as I entered her dreams as phantom

To tell her I was far from virginal

The dressed remained clean


We are always all conjuring

Anna Allen is a queer, Black femme living in Oakland, California. She has read at Get Lit, Litquake, Quiet Lightning, and The National Black Arts Conference. She has been published in Sparkle and Blink.