poem
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Aylan and the Others
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2 min read
I didn’t think of him (maybe I did). More like I tried not to think of how small he once was. But his wasn’t the first I saw, the first, “chilling” she called it, I couldn’t take. It was of a boy on his back, shirt below his chin like when he shows his belly…
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A Poem for Freddie Gray, Baltimore, and all of us
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2 min read
GUILT When the preacher said “I’m absolutely convinced that a riot merely intensifies the fears of the white community while relieving the guilt.” My white ears hear the condemnation and the righteous call for peace. My poet ears hear the economy of language and concern. My pastor ears hear the prophetic reminding us our guilt…
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The delicate disposition of the white southern man
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2 min read
After Rusty had killed the man (He shot him in the back) he needed to reshape the evidence. That man–he came at me! This, of course, was hogwash But the shots were justified (All 12 of them to the back) self-defense is such an easy excuse – he came at me! – he would claim…
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Other People’s Clothes
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1 min read
In the front load washer, I can see whites and darks and grays mixed together. The checked blue shirt, gym shorts with the single cinched drawstring, and the lacy number that may be a halter top. I look at your clothes like an alien species or as a xenophobe looks at their neighbor, considering him…