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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)

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