what have you done with them?

yesterday i took my body off

beat it on the front steps with a broom

& not one of them

came giggling out my skin

yelling you found me!

not one of them i called for

was already in my hand.

dear suicide

you a mutual friend

a wedding guest, a kind

of mother, a kind of self

love, a kind of freedom.

i wish you were a myth

but mothers my color

have picked ocean

over boat have sent

children to school

in rivers. i known niggas

who just needed

quiet. i seen you

dance, it made me hard.

i would not deny you

what others have found

in the sweet mildew

behind your ear. i know

what happens when you

ask for a kiss, it’s all

tongue, you don’t

unlatch, you suck

face until the body

is gone.

dear suicide

that one? i promised him

i would kill for him

& my nigga was my nigga

& my word is my word.

dear suicide, where are you?

come see me. come outside.

i am at your door, suicide.

i’ll wait. i’ve offed my earrings

& vaselined my face. i put on

my good sweats for this.

i brought no weapon but my fist.

dear suicide

you made my kin thin air.

his entire body dead as hair.

you said his name like a dare.

you’ve done your share.

i ride down lake street friendbare

to lake of isles, wet pairs

stare back & we compare

our mirror glares. fish scare

into outlines, i blare

a moon’s wanting, i wear

their faces on t-shirts, little flares

in case i bootleg my own prayer

& submit to your dark affair.

tell me they’re in your care.

be fair.

heaven or hell, i hope my niggas’ all there

if i ever use the air as a stair.

acknowledgments

you save me half a bag of skins, the hard parts, my fav, dusted orange with hot

you say we can’t go to the bar cause you’re taking your braids out

i come over, we watch madea while we pull you from you

you make us tacos with the shells i like & you don’t

i get too drunk at the party, you scoop my pizza from the sink with a solo cup, all that red

you, in the morning, bong water grin, wet chin

you, in the lawless dark, laughing like a room of women laugh

at a man who thinks his knowledge is knowledge

i text you & you say, i was bout to text you, bitch

you cook pork chops same way i do, our families in another city go to the same church

you, rolling a blunt, holding your son, is a mecca

you invite me out for drag queens on the nights i think of finally [        ]

you pull over in Mississippi so i can walk a road my grandfather bled on