LACUNA
Another sun unfurlsover chewing gumcanyons, long gnawedby your foothold.
A corpus colossus,hippocamping: you couchin fault lines, hammockedwhite matter.
Stroke mewith each toss-turn —a neuron-starved bender.
Hypoxia will choke youout, but you insist onmontauking.
Manus anchors...
Only the Forest Remembers
Only the forest remembersand us.The sturdy, low boughsheld us in our youthas we climbed.The upper twigs swayedand bent in the wind.From...
These poems are part of a special section of the Mid-Atlantic Review, Celebrating Black History, and selected by editors Khadijah Ali-Coleman, Carolivia Herron, and...
My body's ephemeral interpretation of how I perceive…..a reaction to everything real or imaginary…..that moment before the first domino falls…..the buzz after your...
Mid-Thirties
Toddler, pigtails loosening,hides behind her mother’s legs,two tiny hands around one adult knee.Mother leans down,whispers in her daughter’s ear.Child smiles,tilts her head to one...
My creative process is first and foremost about listening. On one level, it is listening to myself. On another level, it is listening for a match between what I feel compelled or inspired to say, and what I see in the world around me.
When Langston Hughes Livedat 1749 S Street, NW, Washington, D.C. 1
Living with your motherand younger brother couldn’thave been easy.
In two rooms,with one oil heateryou...
AgingFrom construction paperlayered in pipe cleaners,uncooked noodlesand cotton balls;to cardstock trimmedfor business cards,in neat stacksor sweaty palms;to printer papertaken from the officefor a pile...
