[Image ID a poem entitled ‘WEI YING TELLS ME ABOUT RESURRECTION’ that reads: I fell into a graveyard & crawled out a ghost. I was a relic of an age / no grace could touch, I slept in the underworld so I wouldn't look /at my fists. Daughter, you too reached the day through a blade / of light. In another life, you spend months bent over bins / doggedly chewing whatever kindness survives a stranger's hands / & the year prior kneeling before a boy who knows the rift / between a life measured in government paper & disappearing / is how quietly you scream inside the smallest hour. We own nothing /but our ends. I am no prophet, but know this: any devil / worth their salt swears fealty to blood alone, / knowing hurt, like any animal, lives only to bury itself / in the heat of its truest grief. In place of my human face / I stride into a veil of killing season. Because I was a bride / to violence, I kissed every crime I could name & smithed a halo / of their architects. Anything can be a weapon in the right clutch. / When a man next raises his fist, unhinge your jaw & retch / the knife that skeletons you. Child, be ruthless. Be cut / throat. In all of eternity, you learn there is no forgiveness / to be crowned with. A joke I was once told goes, I didn't choose / this life, this life chose me. Fuck that. Choose a hell / of your own making over the hell that unmakes you, Flower / a garden of rage & eat & eat & eat. :End ID]