Featured Poems

my father does not remember
the day i was born
the events, i mean
questions that were asked of him
like when my mother’s placenta
burst like a supernova
and the doctor asked him:
who would you like me to save?
your wife or your daughter?
after learning
that my parents weren’t married
& that my father
had no say in the matter,
the doctor turned to my mother:
we may very well lose the baby, he said.
who would you like me to save?
you or your daughter?
my mother closed her eyes,
horrified her unborn child
might not survive
as i began to drown inside her,
like one of those children
lost in the dark of the river,
when she turned to the doctor and said:
we are both going to live
we are both going to live

After Benvenuto Cellini, “Perseus with the head of Medusa,”
bronze sculpture

perseus, hold my dead lips
up close to your ear.
let me tell you a secret
with my split tongues.
once, long ago,
poseidon held a fistful
of my black locs
just like this.

on the floor of the temple,
fingers pulling at my scalp,
he inhaled me; my body
soft from lavender and holy oil.

my robes, cast off and torn,
spilled down over the altar
and even the candles
dimmed in respect of my shame;
my brown skin somehow paled
in the fading light.

the last thing i remember
before the snakes came,
before my body was lost
both to the sea and to knowledge:
a reflection of myself,
in the eyes of that cruel god.
the imprint of his hands,
hot and red as the sea on my neck.
the chill of them
first touching my face –

the press and dead fish stink
of that salty mouth,
lips rough and cold
as the jagged rocks of the deep
against my collarbone.

picture a girl built pretty and open
like a temple, only to be destroyed.

be kind: you are looking at ruins
further ruined.

what i mean to say
is that the swift kiss
of your sword on my neck
is not unfamiliar, perseus.

i have tasted the sharp, quick
pain of a man before.

for kori gauthier

“Everyone warns us off the rocks. / But what will keep us from the river?” – Eugenia Leigh

in a new car on a bridge overlooking the mississippi river, you left your phone & purse on the passenger’s seat. you did not take the keys out of the ignition. you left the car, an eighteenth birthday present from your parents, still running. you rushed to your blind date with death as though it were the dental appointment scheduled in your google calendar for the next morning. there was no need for seduction. you were a sure thing. so you stood on the cement lip of the bridge and cast yourself over the guardrail without a sound, like a fishing line, gliding into the muddied water.

your headlights were still on as the tow truck arrived. no one, not even the tow truck driver, stopped to wonder why. lights on. car running. phone & purse inside. engine still breathing, though you were no longer. when he rigged your car to his truck without so much of a backward glance, he confirmed your haunting: no one cares. no one cares. i imagine your ochre eyes: beautiful & sick with tired, anchored to the water below. tell me this: if no one is around to hear the sound of a brown girl plunging like a dagger into a river, did she ever even fall at all? no foul play suspected, is all that the papers will say. out of respect for the family, the police chief refuses to speak on the topic any further. they will not call your death a suicide out of respect. the drowned girl silenced twice. i ask myself: where do you run when nowhere, not even home, will suffice?

i was like you, once. saw the river as comfort, a dark crib, to nurse my suffering. the water, stygian, & full of possibilities, delicious silence. what if i had driven off the bridge, as desire called me to, under the blurred veil of my tears? a wedding of brown water & browner skin. would i have beckoned to you from the river bottom on a jagged marital bed of rock? the current pushing our bodies, together, as the curve of the moon smiled down at the light of its own reflection on the water.

i listen to sade with men i love
foolish & wild, i whisper forever
glistening like diamonds, so wet, in their beds:
my spent heart, cold, shakes the four posts again
don’t mock me as i melt into my gin
it starts with record players and hot nights
i find the wrong ones & fail to do right.
the wine hugs as you call me a good girl.
desire gussies my throat like ruined pearls.
there are depths to the sorrow her voice holds:
sometimes i think you’re just too good for me
i beg for a cage but you set me free
i know i’m about to have a breakup –
stevie’s voice through the cvs speakers

the cvs dims as stevie’s voice spins:
when you build your house /then please call me home
i buy plan b & pads i hope to need.
the dark blood comes as i drive into work.
the psychic will call it a miscarriage.
my soul will call it an answered prayer.
i look for a man who was never there.
i call in sick as my bent body roars.
there are certain debts only women pay.
who did i destroy? myself, you or us?
years later, i don’t remember his name:
the man who stood outside as i shed you.
sade’s voice purrs through my studio walls:
will you keep bringing out the best in me?

i dreamt of you so long before we met
a rich mystery man on a dark street
offering me the world for just a taste
of my swollen clit, plump brown breasts beneath
my dress; you came to the titty bar &
watched me dance with another man, grinding
on the hot roof top. did you have your fun?
you asked as you ordered me my first drink,
something pink in a cup: dirty shirley
sweet & cool on my lips; you watch me sip
as lightning flash cracks up the key west sky.
how strange you found me on a street corner,
counting my loose change outside a sex shop.
we head inside the bar as the rain falls.

the night blinks & the beach whispers its speech.
the full white moon so close, almost in reach.
i throw off my sandals & hike up my
dress, wade into the sea. saltwater
swallows my thighs. it’s 4am, sunday.
workshop in 5 hours & i haven’t
even slept, watching you bereft in the dark
waves; night so quiet i can hear the sand
breathe. you tell me you’ve never had a night
like this, though you were married once before.
you ask to hold me as we float in deep.
i oblige to see your illusions rise,
that look in your eyes. this, you say, the best
night of your life & lead me to your room.

best night of your life led me to this room:
the pool outside your window, glowing blue
like a turquoise tomb. i tell you i need
to use the bathroom; you laugh & say girl
just pee on me, as you sit on the bed.
i’ll pee on you for three grand, nothing
less, i say, you ready to write that check?
you’re silent. i smile. guess we’ve found our max.
i ask you for an uber. clearly, it’s
time for me to go; sand stuck between my
toes. i leave, flush, though you ask me to stay.
in the car ride back, the night flees, fades.
once home, i peel off my dress & shower.
i wash the night & you away, so quick.

seltzers of all flavors
that green salsa he likes
avocados
wine (on tap)
spaghetti sauce
bubble bath
lavender epsom salt
pillar candles
whiskey for balcony hot toddies
condoms
black teddy
sheer lace stay-ups
various meats (he’ll want steak)
coffee
bread
another mug
to finally place
next to mine
on the shelf
black beans
brown eggs
tissues
matches to start
a fire
neither of us
will know
what to do with
a gift for him: lucille clifton divination cards

(later in my kitchen
he will pull one card from the deck
it reads:
today we are possible)

exactly three beers
the strength to watch him walk
through the door
the acceptance if he chooses
to walk out of it again

& scissors

to cut
down my braids
when he flies out
on monday morning