Ishion Hutchinson

At nights birds hammered my unborn

At nights birds hammered my unborn

child’s heart to strength, each strike bringing

bones and spine to glow, her lungs pestled

loud as the sea I was raised a sea anemone

among women who cursed their hearts

out, soured themselves, never-brides,

into veranda shades, talcum and tea moistened

their quivering jaws, prophetic without prophecy.

Anvil-black, gleaming garlic nubs, the pageant arrived with sails unfurled

from Colchis and I rejoiced like a broken

asylum to see burning sand grains, skittering ice;

shekels clapped in my chest, I smashed my head against a lightbulb

and light sprinkled my hair; I rejoiced, a poui

tree hit by the sun in the room, a man, a man.

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