I am no longer afraid.
I live with light now.
Every morning
one small bead
appears on my collarbone
like a necklace.
I have been dead for years.
My son was never born.
A grape, he sleeps
behind my intestines.
He is a color I have
never thought of.
Thrown from the temple,
I am where I’m going,
never having to step
on the ground, moving
through this world
until I shatter.
I am God
in his grave,
kind & always
in love.

This article appears in September 2022.

Diana Marie Delgado is a poet and the literary director of the University of Arizona Poetry Center. Her poetry collections include Tracing the Horse and Late-Night Talks With Men I Think I Trust. She has an M.F.A. from Columbia University and has published her poetry in Ploughshares, Ninth Letter, Colorado Review and other outlets. Dianamariedelgado.com.