in heat, we sizzle and pop.
oil glistens off my bannann
and the little flattened circles
leave wet marks on paper towel—
a chalk outline to note
the spot where they were set
to rest. this summer smells
of revolution, whereby Black
August compels us to study
the process of self-protection.
there is much to be done;
a world waiting on us. ocean
pulls back on a shore jaded
by its rising & soon our island
will be a little memory we tell
in the harsh caves of a turbulent
planet. dry bones to cover the
earth, picked clean between
vulture beak. with my teeth i suck
dry the mass of mango seed.
i’m sharpening them, preparing
to bite.
