A vase of seed-headed dandelions for the first time you tried to fly off the front porch but managed only a goose egg on your forehead
A heart-shaped box of assorted deadbolts for the night you were left home alone and the man from 3 doors down tried to get in and you blew out your vocal cords screaming until he went away
One hundred long-stemmed summers for the night Grandma tried to scrub the extra melanin from your skin in the bathtub
A piggy bank full of safe passages home for that time the man stopped and jerked off in front of you and Cassandra on your way home from school
A crown of golden fall leaves plucked from mid-air for the second time you tried to fly, launching from the top bar of the swing set and managed only a set of bruised knees and gravel set like precious stones into your palms
A bracelet of diamond-cut baby teeth for the night the neighbor boy raped you and your mother found him on top of you but still sent you to his house to be looked after while she was at work
A bouquet of wild gods for the one you stopped believing in after losing the only other girl in the 5th grade who spoke dewey decimal when her house caught fire and she went up like a rare first edition
A pair of lover’s deft hands to remove the hurt like surfacing splinters that still haunt your skin from the years of torment by an older brother who was scared of the sight of blood unless it was yours
For the third time you tried to fly, this time piloting a pill bottle rocket ship but instead managed to remain an earthling, there is no appeasement but rather a parade for the sweet gravity that held you here to this planet like an imperfect mother to her chest.