When your leg was still your leg
and not a ghost leg
you walked each row
sure each seed breached
Dancing flames ring the cotton field
I dip and arch while you push the tractor
So we courted over three bitter seasons
Then in a copse of dense cool fern
a wooden flute
a knife in clay.
You always laughed being insecure.
Averting my gaze
you peered up through the trees.
Called to a thousand times
You never looked back.
Song of Cyclops
alone in your cave
I can hear you
In your dark place
who would watch
on a moon-surface hillside
your brothers and
sisters circle in an
from land to land.
Port au prince
On the soldier highways
rusty lean phantom soldiers
with your rucksacks of molten tar
when you slept, I put a glass to your chest
Remember, it was me who shipped you away
angered and uncertain.
Remember when you called me an ungrateful child.
At first, I said this freedom has a peal to it—
When you didn’t come back
I knew it was an execution.
Reach back to me.