wherein we entertain the notions of a creature embroiled in sorting multiple identities. is she a mother? a poet? a performer? an organizer? or is she simply the product of a feminist movement in which women dreamt that simultaneously singing opera, tap-dancing, spinning plates, spouting rhetoric and solving algorithms was liberation. here are the rough drafts.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
on the day Mandela did not die, a lawyer declares pavement to be a weapon. the soles of my father's leather church shoes scratch yesterday's head. mine shakes. & gone. all gone. is sense.