Look!
the men
crowd corners,
gather like
anomalies
bloomed,
a constant
spring, thawing
what tried
to take them.

They clap
their hands
to Go-go,
and embers
leap
from their palms
to emphasize
the point,
signal
the choir
for when one
don’t show up,
the matches
of their fingers
strike,
lighting memories
like loosies.

//

And this is what I excavate in the minute it takes to walk by
I, still smelling like the small town I came from, staring
the way my mother taught me not to, but they all uncles’
sweat and father’s shoulders;

Certainly, their mamas worked alongside their mamas
Certainly, I’ve sat next to their sons on the train
Certainly, they are my cousins kissing teeth at falling buildings
pouring liquor for the fallen people, buried only to grow
into our own faces

My people stubborn; die soon and become heirlooms,
are legacies screaming like streetlights, tell you to go home
the same way they tell you to come here

And there:

salt water, summer tar, slow dance,
bible verse, birthmark, bad temper
flat tire, flat line, funeral feast;
Sunflowers opening wide like a fire