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Poetry: Text




I used to think we created with our hands

But you have shown me we create with each other

I have made a pillow of your chest

You have made a necklace of my hair

I have made gloves of your fingers

You have made a blanket of my body

Your eyes became windows

My smile shone one thousand words

We found matter in these vessels

And turned them into homes


And to entrap time is to covet a wild animal

Is to blink and miss

Wonder where her scurry carried

Is to think her docile and stubborn

To think her generous and thieve

To think her opportunity and barricade

Is to believe we mark folklore and famine

Rather than guest in her presence

Akin to moon tide and tree rings

Is to believe we are God

Is to believe we are god

Is to hiccup a garden from tufts of air

To run fingers through mint leaves and thyme bush

To kiss carrot tops and exfoliate with soil

To lean against the knowing tree

And fidget sundial out of bark

Is to perspire over even ground

Is to bring hoe to invisible roots

Is to forget to reach for the mango wiggling from tree top

Plump and learning to be patient

Poetry: Imprint



And I still catch myself becoming you
Because loving you was having all of you
I took you in my heart and my hands and my arms and my chest and my legs and my heart 
And your smell knew the tip of my nose
And your laugh leapt from my throat before it could leave yours
And your words were greeted by my ears’ eager embrace
And your curls made a crown on my head
So the day I stop loving you is the day you leave my body
Is the day I bark without you rolling your eyes
Is the day I cry without you whispering in my neck
Is the day I talk to God without begging Him for your soul
I’m afraid
You will always find a home in me
That your legs will take up space with no plans of departing
That when another man knocks, you will not open the door
So I will not open the door
I’m afraid
Because loving you is using all of me

Poetry: Imprint

Another River


Everything has already been said
About the wink of sunlight on water claiming the surface
The gentle shove against the grey-turned-black stones
The collective sigh of water nymphs bathing in the sun
And yet we search for words each time we blink
Even though a river is a river
Our eyes convince us it is their first time
Even though everything has already been said
Each riverside coos for attention
So we smile and write poems about how beautiful they are

Poetry: Imprint



I have a heavy load of laundry

Idling in my hamper far too long

Vague memories accompany its stains

I fear

If I wait too long, they may never wash out

But justify the queue by what must be cleaned first

While I cuddle the mound at night

Pretend its old smell is comfort

Imagine what could have been if hot sauce had missed the knee

If salt did not settle in its pockets

I wake with creases on my cheek

Realize comfort should not have a stench

Tell myself it is time to toss it in

Tell myself it is time

Tell myself I need time

I find whites, already bleached

Create blotches with no business being there

Dump it into the suds

Pat myself on the back for a job well done

And call it progress

But when the day runs out

I glide my legs between my sheets

And find the bundle has already made itself at home

A cozier fit than last night

When I wake with the familiar arm swaddle

The load is heavier than before

Poetry: Imprint
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