and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

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

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

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

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble

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

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

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

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

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt