I believe in lemons,

plucked with fissured hands,

mixed with sugar and love and secrets,

baked in a steaming pie.

 

I believe in rain

and the smell of damp earth,

copper and grief and tears,

forging a home inside this body

 

I believe in this country,

this soil, founded on prejudice,

forged from bones in shackles,

built on sneers of cold command.

 

I believe in justice,

in our voices, in theirs.

the cacophony growing louder

and louder and louder,

until 

they

hear.

 

I believe in you, 

in me, in us.

hands tracing collarbones,

fingers dancing in palms.

 

I believe in strawberries,

picked from my own backyard,

grown with hope and faith and longing,

blood red and sickly sweet.