No word from the peripatetic pair.
\nI assume they are squirreled away in the hold of a cargo ship bound for a life of white slavery in Shanghai, or too busy to write.<\/p>\n
In the meantime, from the August issue of Poetry Magazine:<\/p>\n
Skin Teeth<\/p>\n
One good Friday night I come home-
\ntired bad-and I can\u00c3\u00adt find me children
\nor me husband. The house quiet like somebody dead.
\nI call up he best friend. He say the children
\nwid the woman up the road, but he don\u00c3\u00adt know where
\nthey father be.
\nOr maybe he just don\u00c3\u00adt want to tell me.
\nSo I jump in me car and drive up Monkey Hill.
\nI gon catch him, the bastard. I park behind he jeep
\nand take me blessed time an let the air
\nour of one–two–three tires.
\nThen I walk in the stupid lickle rum shop
\nas if is me who lay down the foundation
\nand is me who pay the rent. And I see him
\nholding some girl hand. Laughing like the world can\u00c3\u00adt end.
\nAs soon as the little squeng see me
\nshe up like she ready for war.
\nBut I is a big woman–can\u00c3\u00adt bodda fight
\nwid pickney who don\u00c3\u00adt understand what is mine is mine,
\nI smile broad wid alla them.
\nThen I pour he drink over he head, and tell him never
\nleave me children with nobody again.<\/p>\n
Neisha Tweed<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
No word from the peripatetic pair. I assume they are squirreled away in the hold of a cargo ship bound for a life of white slavery in Shanghai, or too busy to write. In the meantime, from the August issue … Continue reading