my father holds
his favorite drink

Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote

you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties

Now that the Israeli has left, it falls
on me to make the salad.

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

Listen to me: I know
the winter gloom in
mid-summer…

I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.