I was a contortionist

My mother found me lying on the ground,
Dirt-rubbed lips and teeth,
Grass-stained on the backs of my wrists and feet
As if I had been pressed into the earth by just these parts

(And though my hinge joints ached some
I had no memory of consumptions)

She asked, ?what happened to you
?your body confounded, your voice
?thrust inward as it must have been
?When your mouth was ground to the earth??

She imagined a culprit
Contemptible and stealing across our lawn
To hold her daughter in unnatural ways

When really there was
No criminal to speak of

Just a flagrant display of disease
A more perverse affront:

The image of my person,
Destabilized and thrashing, my body
Digging trenches?

Respite places where my parts could ease or collapse
Where their mechanisms could be restored