For those of us who live at the shoreline …
Audre Lorde
Moon marked and touched by sun …
I …
I have not ever seen my father’s grave. …
My mother had two faces and a frying pot …
I am fourteen …
I have studied the tight curls on the back of your neck …
Time collapses between the lips of strangers …
The difference between poetry and rhetoric …
Coming together …
The edge of our bed was a wide grid …
There are so many roots to the tree of anger …