To: All Poets From: Northeastern North Carolina

It’s just getting hot,

    dogwoods showering our shoulders with flowers.

I saw dead baby birds on a trail

   so I know new life has arrived

lost in the survival of pine and ash. I’ll say it plainly—

we need you down here.

Yesterday, my uncle put a nail through his thumb

working for the same white man he’s worked for since sixth grade.

Last night his blood fell on the bathroom floor and made a star

he couldn’t follow.

He needs to hear your poems.