in this body
a broken chromosome hides in its roost/
a silence in genetics skims
through the froth of my demeanor/
a cliché of knives and envy
this kingdom, it sways with a wildness, it croons
to terminate the awkward/
to groan these anxieties to sleep,

at 4:36 a.m.
the hum of nothing grinds my teeth

I look up at stars and clouds from rooftops, 
and dream the big dream on our bed
I plant and plant 
           and dig and dig 
                and grow and grow.
this love, this union, this coincidence, this fate, this flight, this fight is gasping for a conclusion/
no more fear
only this thing, 

this risky bit of everything.

Ingrid Calderon-Collins is a Salvadoran poet & refugee residing in Los Angeles. She's published in OCCULUM, Electric Cereal, Dryland, Seafom Mag, Memoirmixtapes, Punch Drunk Press, Moonchild Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic, Bad Pony Mag, L'Éphémère Review amongst others etc... Guilty of four full-length poetry books entitled 'Things Outside', 'Wayward' & 'Zenith' & 'Ablution.' She invites you to stalk her on Twitter @BrujaLamatepec and read her rants at notesofadirtyyoungwoman.com