for my favorite auntie, Jeanette
Sometimes I think I’m never going to write a poem again
and then there’s a full moon.
I miss being in love but I miss
myself most when I’m gone.
In the salty wet air of my ancestry
my auntie peels a mango with her teeth
and I’m no longer
writing political poems; because there are
mangoes and my favorite memory is still alive.
I’m digging for meaning but haunted by purpose
and it’s an insufficient approach.
What’s the margin of loss on words not spent today?
I’m getting older. I’m buying smaller images to travel light.
I wake up, I light up, I tidy, and it’s all over now.
Copyright © 2021 by Camonghne Felix. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 7, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.
there must be one thing you can’t have in order to be alive
watching flowers open on youtube
I mean, my life is wasted on my life
requirement is simple
it takes a wound to
return to yourself
the new sky
is the same as the old one
its achy maw
its barbwire grip
people are whatever they are next to
that won’t remember them
a dumb desert
a broken open sign
whatever I love best
reminds me of something else
Copyright © 2021 by Jon-Michael Frank. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 11, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets