Always ready
            to give,
the men in my family know
anger like an open palm.

Last week, brother threw
a punch, & i decided
not to break him. Last night,
baba went in on
me: my lack of
            a job.
            a wife.
            a god.
i love
to tell him that they are one
in the same. When i meet my mother,
i talk to her like a man
talks to himself: full
            of another’s simmer
            slow & wayward
as we wait for
            our blood to dry,
            our fathers to call us home



This poem first appeared in Vinyl Poetry and Prose on July 20th, 2016. To view the poem as it originally appeared, visit the publication here.