I am I but I won’t spill my name
not here on this damned rock pushed out bloody
from the bowels of the sea marketplace island
where the cloud’s crest and birdsong all for sale
profit of my black my stewed puss on the plate
in the belly of my captor
what am I what dare I
greased up to quiet the squeak a howl camouflaged
destined to burst forth murderous as a wave
meek today tomorrow cupped for my inheritance
of rage my name soldiers up like bile but I dare
not allow it swallow it bury it
down with the other human parts of me
I husk of girl orphaned at the ocean’s distant edge
before ship before humid choke of hull
before trade winds splintering me off into the world’s directions
a girl an I unbroken and spotless smooth as obsidian’s kiss
To celebrate National Poetry Month we are again presenting an April Celebration: 30 Poets/30 Presses (#ArmchairBookFair21), a feature we initiated last year to help promote new releases whose publicity opportunities were thwarted due to the pandemic. Please join us every day for new poetry from the presses that sustain us.