Jacksonville, Alabama
This is as far from war
As I’ll ever be, among
Gun stores and flea markets,
Hitch-hike and pick-pocket.
The finite is an afternoon
Pastime spent in graveyards
As the air cloys with eulogy
Or simmering heat or church
Bells – I don’t recall. I only remember
The taste of honeysuckle fondly,
The spectacle of their unveiling
Desire. Here, everything
Makes a name out of its absence.
Lonicera chrysantha.
Dolly’s Craft Store. My mother
And her hijab. What else
Do we keep but our names?
Even this voice will one day wilt -
Forget the dead laughing at us
And our attempts to make a home.