Poetry

MARY TELLING JOSEPH THAT SHE PREGNANT


Joseph, my betrothed, I don’t know
where to start. I was into the red
of this egg a long, long time before

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WORKER CHANT


tell dem
tell dem
that dem cars
with my blood in dem gas tanks
soon run dry
soon stop run

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ON THE TONGUE


August burns the sea to galvanize.
                                                       Breakers
clamour at Las Cuevas Bay beneath 

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TWANBLANN TÈ (TREMBLEMENT DE TERRE, OU LA SEISME)


I

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Illustration by Lamair Nash
ANTI-ESCAPOLOGIST


You have the same name as him.
My conscript tongue has practice
in bitter acrobatics,
transitioning from close to
close so often
to containment;

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EXCERPT FROM RHYTHMS (TO EKB: IN RESPONSE TO YOUR CONCERNED QUERY "WHAT RHYTHMS WILL WRITERS USE NOW?")


VI

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RAPTURE

i

the devil leapt out of her dress,
the w o myn w o m an fled

ii

the devil leapt out of her dress,
she left it on side of the road

iii

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RESTING SPACE


Slip me into ice-blue
satin pajamas
and close the lid
Say I was wise
in the guise of
“little girl lost”
Call down the rain

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GRAVE END


Twilight creeps upon the walls.
Fires extinguish while the rain falls.
Hell opens up her mind, to keep the talents

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EVEN NOW


Even now
on suburban terrace
of afternoon brooding
it bruises, even lacerates
those pristine images
of barefoot childhood.

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