The Sadness of Morning Glories Out of Season
Why do their wilted vines still cling to walls,
to porch supports, to trellises? So dry
and desiccated, it seems that they should fall
back in the dirt. The seasons slide on by,
Poetry Prize
The Fire This Time
how much damn broke
does it take to want to
burn just before class
lung green with chaos
The Return
When I returned to earth after forty thousand years / there were no more graves, no more cathedrals.
Who Breathed in Binders
Strange we should forget. Once between the covers of a worn leather binder
a black girl languished, her limbs linked by iron, her feet and breasts
and muscle measured, written.
Time Travel for Beginners
Every crumb of starlight
sails across the universe,
the journey of a million years
to end inside our eyes.
Ants
Sometimes you’ll see one
far from any yard, maybe
on a bookshelf, Barnes
& Noble—third floor
of the mall—or somehow
whipping across town
with you in your car.