The Reckoning
We want fires that burn. Poems that hurt. Words that are so painstakingly blunt they break
barriers. People that are so honest it brings others to their knees.
Eventually, they will beg and they will plead. “Please end your statement with a period and not
a dagger.”
They will cry. They will deny all your claims. But push through and let blood flow. If you don’t
write it, nobody will. And then you’ll be subjected to anybody’s will. And we don’t have time
for that shit. We don’t have time to sit. We are in a revolution. So, use your words precisely.
We want fires so big your bigotry dissipates. We want poems that hurt. We want words so
painstakingly blunt they break barriers. People that are carriers of the truth.
People that dispute. People that bring you to your knees. Beg for forgiveness. Plead for people
who placate. Who pacify. Who fear the fire. Go with them. The Begging and the pleading. And
show them that you are the force to be reckoned with.
Three poems working against my smile
1. You get up
and walk
towards the
hallways I’ve
closed off
from you,
to the rooms
and beds and
heads I’ve
decided were
no longer meant
for occupying.
I don’t tell you
to follow me,
but you do
I don’t tell you
I want your
hands to grip
my hips either
2. At this
point, I am
done sifting
through the
notion of
love or lust
or zippers or,
abstention.
At this
point, I am
filled to the
brim with
sadness,
with men
who feel
it is their
duty to fill
me, even if
I never asked
them to.
3. You never
stopped to see
if it made me smile
like it used to.
It didn’t.
Home
When I got the call, I knew
that the singing of your voice
against my ear was no longer
an option.
I’ve never before been so
affected by two words.
I figured mom would be off
consoling her own grief
to call me.
When I saw dad’s name
flash on my phone I felt
a heat cower over me.
Our conversation was as
brief as words amongst
passing strangers,
Dad: “She’s gone.”
Me: “Okay.”
*dial tone*
I felt too much.
My knees buckled.
Every eye that caught
mine turned into silent panic.
I remember two hands
close enough to reach
out and catch me.
I was too scared to look
in her eyes but I knew she
felt my thankfulness.
At that point, gravity
no longer suited me.
Nor did comfort.
Nor did voices that were
anyone’s but yours.
I felt too much.
I played the image of
crinkles forming from your
skin as you laughed in my head
on a loop.
I touched my hand
and closed my eyes
and pretended it
was your touch.
I tried to smile like
I knew you were smiling
now that you were finally home.
I tried to imagine a life
without your light and sat
in the stillness until sleep
finally settled me.