age: 27
black naturally forgets
it is a color
and simply assumes a space

forgets our necessary moon

          those lies

age: 6
flesh swells from manipulation
of being picked
too soon

unripe cherries still bleed

in the beginning
I was naked hands
and suspicious hips

a half-announced uprush
of choice words and

the salvage of saltwind

an unsmiling sun

age: 35
freckles connect on
unfolded thighs
an arc of pelvis

shifting weight is lifted
with a buoyancy of bodies
shaped like patience

and monogamy

now my foot is snared

scatter the ashes
rupture the heart

a muddy ohio river
is too narrow to hold

this many dead souls

age: 39
in the mirror I whisper to a creased

there are reasons for
stone pillows and
pale wildflowers

and bottoms of bacardi bottles
where it hurts to breathe

tiny bodies at rest

the incurable in-

blue words always dissolve
in ink and water

©  lori hamilton


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