Give me memories as
slow to leave as snails.
In foreign and perhaps
fragile years I’ll still be able
to recognize semen
and expect the smoke.
Champ’s name causes no
stress to fill the mouth.
Quieter than fear or any
of fear’s cousins. Vernice
takes nine specific pills
between spoons of grits
and long sips of an instant
coffee I love. Robert never
told us he was ill
though surely he knew.
I’ve seen knowledge eat large
men alive over a summer.
Muscadines on center
stage as the native grape.
The thick skin the teeth
pierce breaks to pour
sweetly across the tongue.
Look how I hunger where
there is no hunger. Look
how pops left before we
thought he was done. Listen
how the voice of a dead man
can live. Pack me a bag
I can fit in my heart.
Copyright © 2019 by A. H. Jerriod Avant. This poem originally appeared in Virginia Quarterly Review, Spring 2019. Used with permission of the author.