Poetry

Making Accommodations

  A paper can be folded seven times. Each crease across my origami skin is sharp enough to slice. I’ve tried to thin my bones and sinews, ink myself in lines   so small, so shrinking, safe to overlook— passed between palms, a secret note in school, crumpled and cast into a fire as fuel, […]

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Cento for Lagahoos

Who do we think we’re kidding? As if the threshold was the infinitesimal, too— but spirit does linger. Bring honey, a black lamb, two firearms, and a woman’s dress, with the turning of the moon. Soon, I will turn thirty. Hope for the best. Hunting is my living, see, and I take away from this […]

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Mourning Becomes Jocasta

It’s complex, this idea of sorrow, this love of my son who is my husband, this one foot after another. Tomorrow is now, yesterday is when, never today. Moments wash away in morning’s mourning. Our children will know the shame of it, the blame of it, but the noose will not. It will work morning, […]

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The Body in Revolt

Years ago, they drove a spear of blackened wood through the base of my spine, and when the bleeding stopped my skin grew around it, like bark around an axe left buried in a tree it couldn’t kill.   Why does a tree keep reaching towards the sun— doesn’t it know any other way? Now […]

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As if My Flesh was Summer Soil

I make the bed as my mother taught me, smoothing sheets corner to corner, curve to curve, crisp and white, smelling of bleach and the flowery sachets she stuffs into linen closets and cedar chests, as if she could trick those cramped and lightless spaces to bloom. I fluff the pillows, three sharp blows, the […]

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My Cat, He

I knew the horrific thickness beneath my skin the offensive heaviness of each organ I met again with my old ally hunger and felt grim satisfaction as my layers thinned to reveal hard bone   but my cat, he did not approve when I was slow to feed him my gravity stronger though I weighed […]

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Terese Mason Pierre

Fin

Not a lustful fisherman— someone caught in the battle between man and nature as his eyes fill with ocean— but a small black boy dragging a stick against the evening shores of Grand Anse, Grenada.   She is leaning against the pier post, in the sea, so he sees her human first: her dark skin, […]

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fair exchange

you who bred us for the abattoir, you who taught us justice is a nothing-word of poisoned air— remember us.   you with your honeyed terror and scalpel-lies, you with a red-soft hollow in your ribcage in which filth and secrets fester— here is my eye.   I have plucked it out and pressed it […]

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