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Odd palsies in the red
of a desert. Hives at the wrist,
anxiety like a heron
under my lung, winging up
openmouthed. There is no body
of water here, no mangroves
to hide in. Only insomnia,
stacked rattles stammering
loose in the tail’s slow
taper, scales also
worming away, a reminder
of this privilege: to reappear
whole, having indulged the strange bird
its hollow bones inside me.
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The vast hinterlands of the Global South’s cities are generating new solidarities and ideas of what counts as a life worth living.
Protests in China are shining a light not only on the country’s draconian population management but restrictions on workers everywhere.
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