Caffeine drugs me to sleep, tea-drunk, I lie
in muggy shade, tearing into a fantasy peace.
Garden around me, I am burrowed in, overcome
by air, sunset’s new blood, sinking sweat-slick, thoughtless.
I steep, become bitter when boiled in heat. Rise ravenous,
bug-bait, to eviscerate four ripe plums over the sink.
My son called me
“Dad,” he said,
“I think I’m coming home.”
I was silent.
He was breathing scared breaths.
He was silent.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Last night,
we were attacked.”
I was silent,
trying to visualize.
“Don’t worry,” he said.
“We got to the underground
bunker.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes,” he said calmly.
“What?”
“A missile came through
the concrete ceiling
and buried up in the concrete wall—
close enought to have killed all of us.
“Get on the next flight,” I said.
“forget the job.”
“We’re on the flight to
Dabei.”
“We?” I asked.
“Me and my girlfriend,” he said.
“We’re going there to get married
before we come home.”
crinkling chip bags and Cheeto puff fingers
crack-sizzle-fizz-pop of caffeine
blankets and pillows assembled as floor beds
soiled by snack crumb confetti
borrowed socks and old flashlights
to play hide and seek in the dark
suppression of yawns and giggles past midnight
whispered truths, and a hatred of morning
sugar rush waning hour by hour
drooped eyelids and quiet, soft snores
my best friend talks sense into me
but my stomach disagrees
i shake and eat a meal a day
if i can’t sit dinner with my grandma
how do i make it 12 hours
when i’ve had plans for weeks
but i cancel everything
because i need my quiet cries
and my early bedtime
im not in the space to creep
when i’m on the breaking brink
blue-white light pools on the floorboards
that enter the room
through
the crack of the door
slightly open
the sizzle of the fridge
is not the fuzz-noised lullaby needed
tonight
underneath my skin
the haints awaken
from their slumber
as my body remembers
re-members
the night(mare) everything changed
these hauntings are hungry
and
suddenly shadows become
bodies
peering out
the corner of my mind
these eye tricks do not fade
in blinks
the therapist said
scrolling the phone makes it worse
but
at least the ghosts were distracted
thier mumbles covered by
thirty second dance videos
instead
here i lie
not dead
(they are not either)
The beginning is a beautiful place to begin
How is possible to make a first impression,
Now that’s accepted truth and the verdict
However they’re skewed is already a given?
What could it hurt you belonging
Where people think you fit in,
Knowing well this is the ecosystem
Where your kind has already been,
Pecan butterscotch light tan skin
I ain’t passing will y’all let me in?
I’m a mutt, think much, not this shit again
One drop other blood is enough fuck melanin,
In the hood I’m cornbread country foolin’
Boardroom once again step and fetch it man,
How am I not the bestest, speaking perfect diction
Grasping urban slang my people understand?
If I fall into a perfect meter and sing my part in hymns
Call and respond emotional gospel soulful whims,
Teaching us, me, we what’s best for advancement
Let go of where you’re from and just repent,
Why fight the inevitable when it’s easier to going all in
Ethnicity has no race for America to be great again.
A little adventerous fairy wondered into an open door
She wasnt worried about it, she had done this before
Living near a campground there was so many things to see
The humans brought in cool things too and her favorite was the tv
She learned the world was much bigger than the place that she called home
How she dreamed of seeing the world and wondered how far she could roam
So as she rummaged through this camper she heard them shut the door
And thats when she realized the world held so much more
Driving down a highway with so many cars speeding by
She thought it was amazing since they drove faster than she could fly
She hid in a picnic basket until the trip was done
Then she flow into the house and thats when things got fun
So many things to see she didnt now where to begin
But first she needed to find some place safe and get in
and an early snow lies loosely on the ground.
Green spikes of grass punctuate pritine pastures.
But oaks hold their leather offerings
well into winter, and the wind —
winter’s shaman — rattles
Chinkapin and bur,
swamp and pin.
The white and the red quercus
will share no shade with me
until spring.
I left a bowl of food on a table outside only
to find it swarming with ants when I returned.
Annoyed, I washed it with the hose, pushing
scrambling ant bodies to the ground as they
dashed over my hands. Ouch, I cried when
one of them bit me at the crook of my arm.
I smashed him.
Why did you do that? I asked myself as I
finished cleaning the bowl. I felt contrite.
As evening fell, I broke a cookie into pieces,
asked forgiveness and scattered the crumbs
where I knew their underground nests were.
The next morning every bit was gone,
my offering accepted.
Later, I ate outside again, leaving behind a
piece of fruit and muffin crumbs for them to
share. When I returned, three sentinel ants
stood guard around the food. No other ant
had ventured inside the line the guard’s bodies
made. This remarkable gesture of regard
still humbles me.
Every time it gets me.
Checking my stairs to see if she’s there,
Checking the corners of my room for cameras.
Every time I remember.
Slouching over,
Turning over,
Seeing her standing in my door way,
Looking at me with her phone light glowing under her chin,
Like she’s telling the story of a monster,
one she will soon become.
Like she’s just waiting, wanting, an opportunity
to throw me around like a ragdoll.
I know I shouldn’t do it,
I know I’m to blame.
But every child deserves a parent.
not every parent deserves a child.
and they say it’s just strict parenting.
