In the End You All Get Caught

after my rapist stevie boy and his best friend ronnie boy

you peel me      off        

the grassland 

   laugh          as you each       taunt my

       small       

     snail     

              life     

between your fingers              merciful god          

                       who won’t      crush a shell 

today    but he can           

     front teeth    flash 

                            in arousal      for now     

you own me       you discovered me      

            in dirt          saved         a pearl         

from my own            

                            home        now you press 

me down         

         on a foreign land          watch me 

lick 

           your endless       body        & desert  

                             moisture      

on your         chest hair         over beach-

          burned      skin          

     now I repel you       

with swift retreats            

    you can never catch         

                into a shelter           I carry 

           everywhere            the privilege in that            

        now you jump 

for the chance            to smother           

     this one

            for the story         to tell     the next one 

that life      did a disservice          to whom    a hopeless 

romantic          salvaged        all he could       

          the sane 

remains       of something          itchy         

       now your victim tears           

want justice        for     look    

look           my flesh   

will forever         soil        the back         

  of your shoe

                          stain       the good name          

 on your resume             

                          & march                     

  on your bedsheets          

for when I wake                 

                  it is never too late        

why is it never too late          

you fear           for the slowly         but surely        

mucus

glued          to your windows        a web of trial     

         oh what if                        I        

will be the reason        you are re-      

     membered

Phobetor’s Visits, Fourth Anniversary

I. 10/7/22

steve, plugged to

an electronic clock.

it ticked down

his final breaths.

he lied on his murphy bed, a

puddle of brimstone aflame.

i drew in his palm. we

counted the good times.

we both smelled of ron’s

jo malone. he did not say

sorry. i made him

laugh. by the last

three breaths, i began to sob

my hands shaking, his, static.

i said, i love you, & i would

not stop. at him i shot love

in caches. ron arrived.

his gray hood pilled.

his jaw hung low as if

God gave up on men

before he did Him.

this reunion: my rapist

& my ex who believed

him. i ran away, rapt

door after door.

in the courtyard

wired walls & a platoon.

i did not have a rifle.

II. 10/6/22

i killed two men.

the first wore a

black hood & a

bulging backpack.

inside his backpack

sulfur & cologne.

with a rifle, he fired

on the crowded bus.

the bus was blue.

its people, wailing

reeked of shits & hot

breaths. i dragged him

off the bus. on the pavement

i straddled his chest. around

his neck, my hands

ticking until his grew

static. his lover found

body in a puddle. i’m

sorry, i sobbed, i didn’t know

what else to do. the lover knelt

with me, his palm

a cradle for my skull

his heaving breaths cloven

to my ear—i’m sorry, too—

then hurried a knife into

the soft ravines of my ribs.

i left the rifle.

i kept the knife.

Back

after Tiana Clark & Ross Gay

*

Cervical ::::::: Xinyu

Dr. Man palmed Ma’s lump-ridden

uterus, from which, minutes ago, outpoured

my brother. He held the wet bulb

to me. The suture beaded blood. Kernels

of fat mined beneath its membrane.

Uterine fibroids, he said, dabbing on them.

Soon, they will leave her for the birth she gave:

a life for a life. He plunged Ma’s universe

back in her belly, a deflated wok, whose

de-stressed skin glistened like chicken oil.

Outside, fireworks ushered in a new year.

I, twenty years young, went to squeeze Ma’s hand

behind a blue drape. I thought of Ba. Doesn’t

hurt, Ma cooed, yet to be sewn back whole.

*

Cervical ::::::: Xuesheng

Yeye’s strainer ladle tempered oil

         in the iron wok, the eve of lunar

new year. He tossed handfuls

of bare corn cobs into fire, & outpoured

fried chicken, pork strips, yam chunks

ribbon fish, radish balls, sizzling

in bamboo winnowing trays wide

as wells. A factory chef, revolution

after revolution, Yeye hunched

over heat as he ate away the crowns

in his mouth, the silver sowing through

him, a church arch left on every tooth.

In his chest pocket, a dirty

handkerchief & a book of hymns.

Aubade for Penelope

We sweet talked to Penelope

our gingery neighbor

a bony fire in the grey of dawn

toward the sick pen.

Through thick lips, her tongue ached

for a bottle in our hands that she thought

trickled milk. Between agape

metal gates, my love arched

over the calf’s soiled & bleeding backside, waving

the red rubber teat. When we swung her fling

with freedom shut, she paused

before the hard-earned teat, its promise

dripping into the damp hay.

The mountain mist, once lurking, thinned.

In days, the farmer who fed her every day would cry.

He would bury her in the compost mound

with fresh bright hay, shrouding the mound.

But then, we were hopeful. 

I took my love’s hand in the rising sun.

We tottered over tree barks

quick crackle, dew soaked.

In bed, I cradled my love’s left shoulder

blade, the fountain of a wing.

My love, my love—