nina we pretty
much could do
exactly what
we want wherever
we are, if you’ve brought
your bellybutton, and i’ve got my gun.
shut our mouths, let the tall dead grass
sweep over us, and we’re golden
because we can’t stay.
in no time at all you won’t
own that black cotton dress
or the pink canvas shoes. color is inconsequential
except at parties, beds, and movies. where else have we
been? these are dark
times, mr. gross insists, but i wouldn’t
know you at all
without the dark: american history, where you
sharpied my name on your white knees for the first time.
your great-grandfather hymen wanted
to be a gvaldik cowboy in this country, but arriving
at the port of baltimore he collapsed
at the sight of his first
black man.