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

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

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

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

Every so often, they add a tattoo
in honor of some long-forgotten love.

the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.

the man is stayed bent over the canvas
of my sofa. the man is me the man is him
self and I bring down the whip…

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

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

I myself should never have been born

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

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

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

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