Poetry

Even in photographs our eyes danced

You're famous , in your world, maybe I am--taboo,

I saw Queen Hephzibah in the wilderness the other day. I was a little befuddled because I thought she had lost her way.

My father went whole and alone before / I carried the parts of my mother

I can’t abide happy art, not when the air hanging over my people is smoke-dusted, bomb-clouded, gray with phosphorus & miasmic with rot.

Think of how I dodged death before,/ but death is a persistent player/ never losing in hide-and-seek.