#30 Poetry

Spirit softened / by calloused hands, passed from merchant to missionary / to foreign school through fluent French negotiations / regarding the terms of exchange.

it’s Monday morning / cockatoos all be screeching / and the wailing’s been getting under / my black skin. and he’s been finding / his people back in East Legon.

I stay alive though, sensing velocity / as an ambulance would in a dream— / brisk, accidental. Remember the first time / your little bones cried for milk?

I love this rock I just picked up / swimsuit: dripping hip bones / wet dog: admires his new-found body positivity

it must be hard to laugh off constant / reinfection   whisper herd immunity / like the password to a speakeasy / with me / us / the weekly dead / sat here like warts on pumpkins / ruining the normal