Poem of the Week

I am vast. I contain

a barren sidewalk. A city

block. A knot of sparrows. […]

In the bedroom, a mosquito
whining like a clutch,
the one my first girlfriend burnt
out when I tried teaching her
this new motion: lifting […]

The worry is always whether my indulgence like a regular subject-predicate is universal.

The worry is whether the scope of my writing now rests too firmly on autobiography and the sexual violence of autobiography. […]

Like every other black woman, I sleep naked with a box fan in the open window. / When it rains and after my kid has sung into the dust-white, / spinning blades (laughing with distortion), after he is sleeping in his own dark room, […]