#3 summer summit

Lately I have found it hard to concentrate. What book should I choose to read? Do I skim or linger? How much of the newspaper can I survive?  How many minutes can I spend on social media? A colleague asked today when will Instagram go back to flower images? That question pushed me to ask what do flowers symbolize, say, or do? Could they be a weapon, a conversation, an answer, a question?  Could flowers be a moment of pause, clarity, or memory?

My Poems

my poems are fed up & getting violent.

i whisper to them tender tender bridge bridge but they say bitch ain’t no time, make me a weapon!

i hold a poem to a judge’s neck until he’s not a judge anymore.

i tuck a poem next to my dick, sneak it on the plane.

a poem goes off in the capitol, i raise a glass in unison.

i mail a poem to 3/4ths of the senate, they choke off the scent.

my mentor said once a poem can be whatever you want it to be.

so i bury the poem in the river & the body in the fire.

i poem a nazi i went to college with in the jaw until his face hangs a bone tambourine.

i poem ten police a day.

i poem the mayor with my bare hands.

i poem the hands off the men who did what they know they did.

i poem a racist woman into a whistle & feel only a little bad.

i poem the president on live TV, his head raised above my head, i say Baldwin said.

i call my loves & ask for their lists.

i poem them all. i poem them all with a grin, bitch.

poemed in the chair, handless, volts ready to run me, when they ask me what i regret

i poem multitudes multitudes multitudes.

Danez Smith (2019)