every thing that happened to me was some kind of magic when they laid me in the grave minutes past being born walked away from me like moses and sent me down the river life to die touched my body in ways ain't supposed to be and beat me with their own regret raised welts … Continue reading Necromancy (Or Raising the Dead)
granddaddy was different. lived alone in north carolina. gradmama lived up north. the mason-dixon drew a line between them when mouths to feed made a difference and love was the work. above and below, divided union men in the kitchen played checkers, drank whiskey, waited for sweet potato pie. granddaddy tied a towel around his waist, … Continue reading Between Old Men
gravity tethers us to the ground it is power in the body of quick, dead, and quick-dead a force of honor she has no headstone still a sibling error following two years of promise and no honor i am the last breath of patience digging my hands in the dirt to say hello to an … Continue reading Honor Thy Mother
in a red light room i imagine myself in my mother's womb trying to return or begin again inside the walls of my own imagination i am dragon-shadow cast against the inside of nowhere burning her down for freedom when the door will do because i cannot find the light i cling to a chord anchored … Continue reading Color of Love
"even mothers cut cords to keep us from killing them and save us from death"
I. In July sun and burgundy car, I breathe 1985 in 11 year lungs, riding in silence. In our grief we bump against each other. This is kindling. This is dry wood. There is fire to burn. She has misplaced a son she never knew. And despite having his location, can never seem to find … Continue reading (Re)Consideration
in his suicide forest i collected seeds and grew a garden inside myself thick with wilted things he is a reaper unsated an unworthy god who harvests the white of my bone and scatters soul-ash and grief as feed for the coming he manicures the place in me where men lay down to die a … Continue reading Rituals of a Son