from When Rap Spoke Straight to God
by Erica Dawson
I’m covering my head, like Kool
G. Rap said, in this red zone. Dead.
This ain’t no motherland, though fek-uhnd
as fuck.
Florida’s the only time
and place I’ve said, It’s a black thing,
you wouldn’t understand, like I
will never understand the love-
bugs fucking ass to ass, or man
standing his ground, shotgun in hand,
shooting at cans like they’re an unkindness
of ravens.
Seven years I have
mothered this nature into a woman.
The moon, her crevices, a tree
the sharpness of her tough skin split.
Erica Dawson is the author of three books of poetry: When Rap Spoke Straight to God (Tin House, 2018), winner of the 2018 Florida Book Awards Gold Medal for Poetry; The Small Blades Hurt (Measure Press, 2014), winner of the 2016 Poets’ Prize; and Big-Eyed Afraid (Waywiser Press, 2007), winner of the 2006 Anthony Hecht Prize. Her poems have appeared in Blackbird, The Believer, Virginia Quarterly Review, and other journals. Her poems have appeared in several anthologies, including Best American Poetry 2008, 2012, and 2015; Resistance, Rebellion, Life: 50 Poets Now; and American Society: What Poets See. She is the director of University of Tampa’s Low-Residency MFA in Creative Writing, and, at UT, an associate professor of English and Writing.
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