My body no longer

as if we could lay ourselves down at our own feet /
to mourn, as if we could shuck skin like a snake, slide away /
naked and new, some born-again eve.



RECENTLY PUBLISHED


If, and Longer

Balled below my tongue
like a seed
I won’t plant, afraid to surrender
the dream


Occupation

I doubt these empty pockets
could produce a grave
or plot of land
or shovel—my fingers
cannot penetrate this
scorched, mountainous earth:
and always,
there is hunger.


Gratitude

Let me stretch my mouth wide /
as a summer afternoon /
and say it loud, say it sticky /
say the days and their yellow hands / and the air so open / you could walk inside it


When I Am Queen

This is the song
in the song they thought they knew,
had picked it up on their stroll of mere centuries
until she, not a history, still writing,
wrote it on the floor. And it is too late.