Through the window, I see the bare trees. I hold hands of family members—not my Family—of which they are unaware. Truly. Sadly. We celebrate with champagne And shrimp cocktail. Their warm welcome Chills my bones. With each sip Of champagne, I grow small and hope To grow smaller still until I can slip Through the crack in the window, alone, And escape to the trees where I know It is colder. But still.
My poems have appeared in such varied publications as Fulcrum, Dancing Shadow Review, Maryland Review, the Dudley Review and the Antigonish Review. I also write short stories and plays. I work at the Center for African Studies at Harvard where we provide support for various African and Africanist pursuits.
The Window// (1) Behind the window, when clouds descend down over houses planted into mud, and seeds wake up, clock-hands go back to zero. Cottony fogs veil visions, so we might look inside, then I see a dewy dove carrying
A fat island burns under a looming sun. Bleeding rays will enter your eyes to see the blundering world. The gods were melting down looking at the corpses of faltering orchids, spread out at the feet of a white blaze.
the devil is a trickster can’t find him in Twisted Sister sorry that I missed her aim to fame was through the flames eating Cheetos got your juice frozen got thoughts of the ocean sifting through the latest trends some
Thanksgiving never will I forget Hopping in the car for a very long ride to grandma’s house With heavy frost on the grass, glistening in the sun Singing songs and counting grain bins to pass the time Now the frost
The morning flock returning to their nest, Piercing the yellow shine in the high sky, Mighty mountains and silent trees stood witness, To the painting drawn by the scorching sun, The sweet rhythm of waves and the coldness of The