Can you see me?
I am a Writer
In all my pictures
my hand cradles my chin.
This very hand
drove the pen on.
Spilled the ink
that prompted the beat
of millions
of previously
uninspired hearts
I look past the camera
Truley seeing
not just this world
but all the
malaria infested others.
I can replace your neighbors'
punjas
with a white lady's orek.
This is the divine hand
that keeps you from
visiting yourself.
your grandmother.
I was sitting im ny poetry chair
wingback
and forgot to answer the door.
Next time let yourself in.
The kitchen window has been unlocked for years.
Crawl into the sink
and onto my lap.
Listen.
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