National Poetry Month 2021


for my mom

The day is bright bright

— it always springs to life 

when a north wind howls

it unwraps the brow of your expectant tongue

when we placate our sores with the poultice of cockspur, we shine iridescent

when the roofs break open with hail and ailments, the sound— incessant

The day is bright bright 

— it always springs to life 


for my dad

Your stereo sings a lullaby

to the watermelon

You sing

“the soil is red, from all the blood spilled there”

Your veins weeping say

“I want to be a seed, a root, a stem”

You can’t — dear dad — 

even when you die

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