let me not forgetto be the pistolpointedto be the madwomanat the rivers edgewarningbe free or dieand isabellif i be youlet me in mysojourningnot forgetto ask my brothersain’t i a woman tooandgrandmotherif i be youlet me not forget towork hardtrust the Godslove my children andwait.
can blame her for hunkeringinto the doorwells at night,the only blaze in the darkthe brush of her hopeful tail,the only starlighther little bared teeth?and when she is not satisfiedwho can blame her for refusing to leave,Master Of The Hunt, why am inot feeding, not being fed?the coming of foxone evening i returnto a red foxhaunched…
sothe bodyof one black manis rag and stoneis mudand bloodthe body of oneblack mancontains no lifeworth lovingso the bodyof one black manis nobodymamamamamamacitais there no valuein this skinmamamamaif we are nothingwhyshould we sparethe neighborhoodmamamamawho will be next andwhy should we savethe pictures
and run one with the sewage to the seawhat did i know about waters rushing backwhat did i know about drowningor being drownedyou would have been born in winterin the year of the disconnected gasand no carwe would have made the thin walkover the genecy hill into the canada windsto let you slip into a…
is it any wonderi hunger to tunnel backinside desperateto reconnect the rib and clayand to be whole againsome need is in mestruggling to roar through mymouth into a namethis creation is so fiercei would rather have been born
that is entering even nowthe lip of our understandingcarry you outbeyond the face of fearmay you kissthe wind then turn from itcertain that it willlove your back may youopen your eyes to waterwater waving foreverand may you in your innocencesail through this to that
thinking of everything but kinship.collards and kalestrain against each strange otheraway from my kissmaking hand andthe iron bedpot.the pot is black.the cutting board is black,my hand,and just for a minutethe greens roll black under the knife,and the kitchen twists dark on its spineand i taste in my natural appetitethe bond of live things everywhere.
and the lights is back onand my uncle brud has hitfor one dollar straightand they is good timesgood timesgood timesmy mama has made breadand grampaw has comeand everybody is drunkand dancing in the kitchenand singing in the kitchenof these is good timesgood timesgood timesoh children think about thegood times
as a sockwhile i have slippered into youmy dead and living childrennowthey want to cut you outstocking i will not needwhere i am goingwhere am i goingold girlwithout youuterusmy bloody printmy estrogen kitchenmy black bag of desirewhere can i gobarefootwithout youwhere can you gowithout me
and the last tampon.I wish them no 7-11.i wish them one week earlyand wearing a white skirt.i wish them one week late.later i wish them hot flashesand clots like youwouldn’t believe. let theflashes come when theymeet someone special.let the clots comewhen they want to.let them think they have acceptedarrogance in the universe,then bring them to…
