Hurstonian Mythos 0.2: Custodial Spirits
My mama, centaur-sometimes-mystic, sculpts me praying hands
I break open to score messy reminders into the flesh of a dark rock
surged upon, and overswept.
Desperate palms in search of Zora’s feather-bed settle themselves
around broom handles and wastebaskets. Consorts of La Madama
surround us throwin’ whispered revivals against a spiral of owned objects.
Coming for to carry me, coming for to claim, coming for to clean…
Guggenheim Poet-in-Residence presented in association with the Academy of American Poets. Made possible by Van Cleef & Arpels. Reprinted with permission of the author