the bullet is his whole life.
his mother named him & the bullet
was on its way. in another life
the bullet was a girl & his skin
was a boy with a sad laugh.
they say he asked for it—
must I define they? they are not
monsters, or hooded or
|1901||Thanksgiving||Ella Wheeler Wilcox|
|1900||Thanksgiving||James Whitcomb Riley|
|1922||A Thanksgiving Poem||Paul Laurence Dunbar|
|2017||[symbol]’s really beautiful. When [symbol]’s standing in the trees||Gabrielle Calvocoressi|
|2017||[Locked away we’re like a Russian novel:]||Gabrielle Calvocoressi|
|2017||Losing the Narrative||Lynn Melnick|