Poetry
Poetry,
The Igbo word for death is almost the same as the word for joy
a man drenched himself in gasoline /
to protest the Biafran war. He’d stood across the road /
from lunatics cheering for him to die.
Poetry,
Airports Are Quiet Now and I Can’t Get To You From Any of Them
I crisscross a cardigan over my chest / try to name the sound of a small boy / who can’t yet tie two words together
Poetry,
The Inside Out
do not succumb / to the allure / of smooth, sexy / skin that fools / the eye /
Your skeleton / is your framework, / lay in the bones, / the muscles, / the soft tissues
Poetry,
Ocean Gate
“salvation is an encrypted message in the belly of a shark.
our divine loins surrounding a fallen body like sworn angels.
… our innards spilled out like petroleum jelly:
a matchstick thrown in here is self-arson.”
Poetry,
They stand, rocking back & forth in the wind
“the blossom fades / And they are forgotten with the seasons.”
Poetry,
Vigil
… we sank heavy at your side,
waterlogged with the idea of death,
taking turns to flinch…
Poetry,
When I Dream of Motherhood
every origin story comes with a warning
once upon a time
there were sons writing the language of worship
Poetry,
In Which a Son and a Mother Meet at the Parking Lot of an Airport Where Queerness Attempts Not to Be a Metaphor for a Bridge
here i present myself / with no need for syntax
my face pressed against the warmth / of your long
forgotten hand