Honeysuckle boy
Spins into the sweet heaven
A sugar harvest
Invasive Species
Honeysuckle boy Spins into the sweet heaven A sugar harvest
Month: May 2014
Trace fossils
I have evidence of a woman who loved me so completely, traces of her linger in cells that line my cheek and ear. All the years together we traveled, miles ribboning behind us as if we might outlast it all. The whole weight of her footprints has gone to dust, a vessel of memory scattered … Continue reading “Trace fossils”
I have evidence of a woman
who loved me so completely,
traces of her linger in cells
that line my cheek and ear.
All the years together
we traveled, miles ribboning
behind us as if we might
outlast it all.
The whole weight of her
footprints has gone to dust,
a vessel of memory
scattered to the wind.
Boxes of letters wilt
in the attic heat.
Memory has the words.
Here is my proof,
set in a heart no one
else can ever see:
For a while we roamed
this life, one proud creature.
She fell away
I could not stay.
In the still part of night
though
I feel her breathe.
Bring Back Our Girls: Our Naked Mothers Walk
Our mothers walk naked through Abjua, as if flesh that made us could rescue us. Someone must be watching. Our fathers, armed with love and bows come for us, too. They know this Sambisa forest, snakes as lethal as these men, who give evil to these woods. They think I am theirs for the taking? … Continue reading “Bring Back Our Girls: Our Naked Mothers Walk”
Our mothers walk naked through Abjua,
as if flesh that made us could rescue us.
Someone must be watching.
Our fathers, armed with love and bows
come for us, too. They know
this Sambisa forest, snakes
as lethal as these men,
who give evil to these woods.
They think I am theirs
for the taking? As if they could steal
my future, as I had not learned
to speak up, add, read, dream,
as if I had lost my voice?
Life has steeled me for men
such as these. Fear me.
I have a future, it lives
in a dream each night. The jungle
sounds frighten me, but I hear
my mother’s voice,
singing me to sleep.
I dream that I lift over these trees
and reach her, cloak us in strength,
then rise above these men,
who think nothing
of me.
I hear my father’s arrows aiming true.
My mother’s cries
surely reach the world.
Someone must be coming for us,
armies of the good,
who have no fear, who know
we girls are the pulse of the world.