Poetry
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
Poetry,
growing season
they called us mothers too & for this we laid low
with our eyes to the ground, opened our mouths
into dirt & prayed for the chance to be useful.
Poetry,
our people had mansions
Let the wild desert we made bloom remember / while the world debates the historical / amnesia we call inheritance. / —Memory outlives bodies & buildings; becomes legacy.
Poetry,
Keystone
Praise to the tail whip, Big Poppa-wheelie, the noise that persists even when the rest of the world / has gone silent. I mean, have you ever watched a Black boy blossom –
Poetry,
Mythmaking
I split myself into halves/then halves again. An egg split open/creasing yolk, rolling smaller spheres/all yellow inside.