By Rickey Laurentiis
for l. Clifton
I will celebrate with you woman, nonwhite
and mother of my flesh, the rude
knives that buckle at your breath, the kind
that sort of shape and knock my throat. I will
celebrate in my malesuit, with this flip privilege
folded between my thighs, being
nonman, a chassis hollowed at the sound
FAG squeaking by. Let us celebrate,
for I've been to the levee's teeth, where slave
heads meet upon their stakes at the river, and
I've known so many men, and women, who have
tried this murder, who have tried.