Warm-blooded arms
By Olivia Gwyn
Olivia,
don’t be afraid
I know your father sometimes
warned you what other men
would think about you
And it made you wonder,
worry what he thought of you
Don’t worry
Here’s the house where you
stepped on a yellow jackets’ nest
and filled your mouth with water
cold from the hose
You walk down the steps
and bask in the jasmine scent,
the lizards warming their
cold-blooded bodies
Jump down from the porch,
trust your ankles to carry your weight
I promise, you no longer
bang your feet up the wooden steps,
cold-blooded with shame
after being told to change
The most beautiful part of
your body is it is safe
Remember to be gentle with yourself,
little one
Olivia, are you listening?
You can hang streamers from the rafters,
make the temple a celebrated-in place
Yes, here’s a room
where the walls
feel like home
The stained glass light
stretching, bathing you in—
what?
Start to remember the words
echoing in a different tongue
One from the foyer in the house
where the hardwood was cast,
like spilled paint,
in warm afternoon light
And you used to lay in it,
like the cold-blooded animal you were,
looking for something outside of yourself
Remember—
Here is the room with the stained glass windows
and the streamers and the open door
I was with you on the hardwood floor
and on the Sunday morning steps
and on your bed when you tried not to think
I brought you safe to a place where you are,
where your daughter
will fling herself, laughing,
from the streamer hung walls
The colored banners will hold
the weight of all her trust and fears
She will fall into warm-blooded
arms and know that she’s—
—Olivia?
