twenty percent of women
can feel themselves ovulate

which is basically magic

lately I’ve been
trying to sit silent
in the white dawn
to see what I can feel

something must be rearranging
at some systemic level
within my brain
everytime I witness
brutality immortalized
in our digital age

I sit silent to see
what I can feel
but I get distracted by traffic
and chickadees

80 percent of women, then
feel nothing, but prepare
to birth

maybe there are eggs
moving in my brain

my son was born
twenty years after rodney king’s
terrible night

the first video

a beautiful spark on
the anniversary of an explosion
and burning blocks

I was fourteen
impatient even then
“why is this still happening?”

i thought
my parents’ generation
had sorted it all out
had grappled
had reckoned
had had it out with this shit

i talk to my students
about samuel dubose
eric garner
freddie gray
sandra bland
trayvon martin

et fucking cetera

a litany in language arts
we get loud
write verse
try to birth something new
maybe we can
maybe we can

maybe they can
feel it