I have seen the white columned porches
from which insignias blare
across lawns shimmering like art installations
made from tailgate chairs
and solo cups where I’d hold
my breath until I reached the end of frat row
eclipsed by khaki legs spread boldly
as the tilt of a student’s confidently
capped head under which a smirk gleamed
“I am the one paying you to be here”
by which I mean this poem could be titled
my mother tells me her #MeToo stories
I mean I have never felt
at home inside myself
after my daughter was born
I washed my hands and counted
breaths, synapses of light
blinking messages
in the hollows of my bones
like a purging of joy
by which I mean my hands became so clean I couldn’t feel
my child as she slept
in my arms
by which I mean my mother held me
and she didn’t
I mean my mother’s body was a house burning
and I’ve been burning ever since
2018
Regular
Contemporary
2023
Politics
Womanhood
Anaphora
a figure of speech in which words repeat at the beginning of successive clauses, phrases, or sentences
Dialogue
conversation between two or more people as a feature of a book, play, or movie
Imagery
visually descriptive or figurative language, especially in a literary work
Simile
a comparison between two unlike things using the words “like” or “as”