by Aracelis Girmay
We remember to be what the sumac made us: lit with red life,
the holler of survivor's blood-but what was
our name when we were green? When History was little?
Species by species, we inch the tightrope, thinly-together. As
siblings. Every now & then stoPping for our eyes to follow, into dark space, a
brother who wouldnt last. Though we throw our songs down after, the relatives
now little bones, & sand.
Last updated February 24, 2023