When mummies wake up,
do they believe
that they’re part-living, part-dead,
no real lips for lipstick or kisses
to rub upon; any strong-backed grip
or word uttered is muffled,
here, not here, all at once?
Their 1000-year-old traumas
are still fresh, an open wound
infected like a rotted, tender heart.
The others have stolen
their property, their brain, their dignity—
Any sort of violation
is theirs to suffer,
they feel every blow first.
That’s why they scream:
they see themselves as whole
as they once were, never again.