one night we slip out
slick as paste and quiet
nighttime stubborn
keep a heat anyhow
sky blurred wit fever
i sweat my kerchief loose
we layin out
we lookin up
we shook wit night wind
we knees up, drift wood.
i say:
what you make a dem stars?
he say:
they just like us. sizzlin dead.
From Anarcha Speaks: A History in Poems. Copyright © 2018 by Dominique Christina. Reprinted with permission from Beacon Press, Boston, Massachusetts.