I cook my cake over coals of human dung,
And just like Jonah, I sit in the shade of a gourd
That I care for more than the people I was sent to save.
And now, on the ship's veranda, I watch the birds.
And like Cassandra, I see the future.
And like Cassandra, I see that
No credit is due me,
By the curse of disbelief,
By the course of my spurned love.
And as it starts to rain I see
Through my paper skin.
My long toes have cleaved yet again,
Deeper, up through the metatarsals
To the cuneiform.
And though I know the abilities
That this morph will bring,
I also see why prophets are not
Respected in their own hometowns.
-jenn
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