shook from temporary asylums
of our beds by crack of leather belt
on back & a basket of screams—
dreamless night & home smelling
of dead herons dad wore on his hands
four volcanoes erupting through our
chests, heavy eyelids tucked under pillows
we ran to the living room leaving fragments
of pink barrettes & hand claps at our heels
wedged ourselves between mom’s stolen
strut & graves he planted on her skin
four daughters screamed with scarred
throats & tear-splayed cheeks half-hidden
by her nightgown—assemblage of tiny
fists push against him like gusts of wind
bruises left on the islands of our bodies
we longed for cradled morning
when the sun’s mouth was gaping
oh how i secretly wished him to dust
so we would have permission to breathe
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Contributor Notes
Nadia Alexis is a New York City-born Haitian poet, human rights activist, organizer and novice photographer. Her work has appeared in BLACKBERRY: a magazine, Duende Literary Journal, and Kalyani Magazine. She is a 2014 Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop fellow and was selected to attend the 2013 Watering Hole Writers Retreat. She currently interns at Brooklyn Poets and resides in Harlem.
