thinking of everything but kinship.
collards and kale
strain against each strange other
away from my kissmaking hand and
the iron bedpot.
the pot is black.
the cutting board is black,
my hand,
and just for a minute
the greens roll black under the knife,
and the kitchen twists dark on its spine
and i taste in my natural appetite
the bond of live things everywhere.
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There is a girl inside.
She will not walk away and leave these bonesto an old woman.She is a green tree in a forest of kindling.She is a greeen girl in a used poet.She has waited patient as a nunfor the second coming,when she can break through gray hairsinto blossomand her lovers will harvesthoney and thymeand the woods will be…
fox
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…
it is all blood and breaking,
drops out of its box squallinginto the light. they are both squalling,animal and cage. her bars lie wet, openand empty and she has made herself againout of flesh out of dictionaries,she is always emptying and it is allthe same wound the same blood the same breaking.
me and you be sisters.
me and youcoming from the same place.me and yoube greasing our legstouching up our edges.me and yoube scared of ratsbe stepping on roaches.me and youcome running high down purdy street one timeand mama laugh and shake her head atme and you.me and yougot babiesgot thirty-fivegot blacklet our hair go backbe loving ourselvesbe loving ourselvesbe sisters.only…
boys
but thiswhat you pawni will redeemwhat you steali will concealmy private silence toyour public guiltis all i gotgirlsfirst time a white manopens his flylike a good thingwe’ll just laughlaugh real loud myblack womenchildrenwhen they ask youwhy is your mama so funnysayshe is a poetshe don’t have no sense
the fox came every evening to my door
trapped me inside, hoping to dismiss herbut she sat till morning, waiting.at dawn we would, each of us,rise frm our haunches, look through the glassthen walk away.did she gather her village around herand sing of the hairless moon face,the trembling snout, the ignorant eyes?child, i tell you now it was notthe animal blood i was…