| About | Books | Interviews & Poems | Calendar | Blog |      
       
 
Interviews & Poems





QUESTION TIME
I remember the scarred spine
Of mountains the moon slips through

Fox fire in a stump, bushes red with blisters
Her question, a woman in a sweatshirt

Hand raised in a crowded room --
What use is poetry?

Above us, lights flickered,
Something wrong with the wiring.

I turned and saw the moon whirl in water
The Rockies struck with a mauve light,

Sea creatures cut into sky foliage.
In the shadow of a shrub once you and I

Brushed lips and thighs,
Dreamt of a past that frees its prisoners.

Standing apart I looked at her and said:
We have poetry

So we do not die of history.
And I had no idea what I meant.

(Published in the journal Black Renaissance/Noire, 2010)


Interviews and Articles:

Poems: