we finna abracadabra the fuck outta mangrove
all the white gods of language: binary— / ain’t shit; shapeshift—code switch; articulate—Black / as fuck, smooth-talk DNA encoded; spell-caster— / gxrl, I’m mythical auntie, enchanting, making y’all / as black & free as America ain’t.
Black Girl Sonnet (1)
our mothers, red soled, holler resistance / eyes peeled and ready for love, toes planted / in terra cotta, they worship on knees
And We Listened For Rain
How beyond years they pray for a heartbeat. How they set homes afire yet groan for their darlings. How even in grief, they hear music.
The kind my mother spewed over the phone each night when Papa sneaked out for a smoke, complaining to her sister about me, him, her period, the price of saffron, the thievery of mango season, and I heard by hiding the cordless in my room.
SIXTY-FIVE ROSES :|: CYSTIC FIBROSIS
of when I was small / enough to trust a thin :|: woven / promise of comfort
Serenade / A Constellation in Training
scattered like salt on a sky as tender and open as a wound / each one / a distant city
trying to rearrange stars and stripes into something recognizable
ON ASKING MY MOTHER ABOUT WINTER 1990
we girls numbered snails and trembling tendrils of light, / oak whispers and green gooseberries to dip in salt