Spring arrived Barely seen. Our eyes turned inward. Suspicious of air, We could not take spring Deeply into our lungs, Feel the warmth of it
How long? Weeks, months. I remember months, years, and now, still. I remember young men who were old. I remember miles and miles of quilted
I am more than breath or bones. I am the Melungeon veins of my many great-grandmothers as they run through the coal mines of West
The moon ate the darkness In unsettling chunks Of destruction and recklessness, Finding strength in unending night. An eternal heroic effort to be sure, A
Words do not come easy this morning In this my holding cell, This state of in between. Months of wait for this, Wait for that.
She was standing at the ready To make me say I am wrong. Like some saint, I had to pluck out my eyes To see,
Believe me, You don’t want to know Everything I never told you. No, you don’t want to know. You’d never admit to it all anyway.
“Mama, why have I not ever seen you cry?” To answer, How do I even try? Do I say it is the miles of years
She dressed in black Since the age of twenty-three. She covered all her insides with The blackest sack cloth. She made sure to let in