“My left hand still scarred where I scraped my knuckles against the brick wall. Here I am parted
from the laundry basket, the skillet of eggs, from the dog’s expectant snuffling…”
“she coulda done laundry, coulda soiled her clothes first, coulda made a name for herself, coulda
sat with her neck arched like a turtle on a stone…”
“count the days
and bones beneath your shirt…”
“My condolences to the generations of Mothers
Who swallow grief by the clip
Lead in their guts like five or fifty ‘warning’ shots
That ain’t miss//
To Mama Gregory,
you didn’t die a slave for nothing…”
Read More“I caught her in the ditch again at dusk, thick in the brambles
of blueberries. She was digging at the roots like she meant to save
them from their station, to free a bush from its thicket...”
Read More