Malcolm X’s last words were break it up, be cool, be calm
and i don’t know who could be calm enough
to have a body
barreled a shovel of poppies barricaded deep in their black
who could be calm enough / to break the bullet / bound
to brand this wasteland / to swell a mouth / to wreck this black cathedral
who could be
calm enough to
watch the wife
with her jaw
lank into chest,
the hanging ghost
in the back
of her throat
screaming they’re killing
my husband they’re
killing my husband
craft the black
woman cadence of
thick, thick memory:
all loud red
all loud blow
of body banging
and bullet and
bullet and bullet
and bullet black
this rememory unsettles
my sleep and i become
the one screaming
they’re killing they’re killing
until the insides of my cheeks
become wax and blood and
i become desperate, searching
for calendula petals
to cool the inflammation
of the mouth
to calm the insistent hymns
of the captured,
the killed,
the bones