May 31, 2016
Jamondria Marnice Harris, Ian Hatcher + Amaranth Borsuk
1223 NE ML King Blvd.
lutelantthese are warm days and she
sits heavy-hipped in plastic
slowly giving in to heat singing deep
from the dirt beneath
her concrete. she stares and whistles low
against time so as to surprise herself
out of it. she is swallowing each breath
to give it back and fill herself to
the space between the leaves always
throttling light from her against finding
limb or contour. of only breath to become
lean enough to climb the trees to the
houses of others lazy-eye notwithstanding.
this deep hollow clears her up and up
the stairs before dark, she rescues herself
at the hour and always intends to stay
but in unceasing panic rises quickly
above the settling sun.
We had measured and measured
the box: hold this, please,
please take the bitter bite, please
brighten or blot out the light.
We waited by the window.
Ranunculi wilted on the nightstand,
weighted down by light. The box
had been prepared.
The heart would not be repaired:
it was inspired. It breathed in light.
We heartened then. We brightened at the core,
we levitated, took up oars, we took on light.
We had a heat.
It was a little bear and feet
trod over us, unlike light. And this,
we learned to lift.