I imagined a cascade of slow death for all / that mattered…

My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”

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

I buy too much, for someone of my stature.
could pawn a skinny metaphor to purchase a plump skin.
its reputed in our lineage— to daydream a life that shreds our pockets.

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

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

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

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

I am still waiting for the lion

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

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

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

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

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

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