Blk boy born dead but
still born/can’t find an ocean
to drown in, when hounds
come running/Their teeth,
a cemetery of white
men hanging from gums
like a thousand knives/
Sybrina pushed her son out
and something inside
of her broke that was
not water./ Maybe a neck?
she thought, when her son
crawled out of her womb
already a man, noosed, throat
leaking at her knees
She would have prayed the
blk off of him, or dragged him
back to her center,
but he was fast/Spilled
out of her body like a
blk river of oil,
so the water could
not hold him too long, the dogs
smelled his blood and ran
When they were through with
his body, she collected
all of his white teeth,
sang the ivory through
her womb, begged God to reverse
eulogy and skin
Prayed the blk off time,
wondered if dead boys would keep
on growing inside.