At the age of fifteen, I got a summer job mowing grass in Standing Rock Cemetery, where my mother is buried. Early each morning I rode my bike to the garage at the back of the cemetery, where our boss, Al, checked our mowers and sharpened the blades.
Presentiment – is that long Shadow – on the Lawn –
“Stop playing politics with people’s lives.”
After the fool leaves The Tragedy of King Lear, where
does he go?
Home to see the wife, play ringolevio with the
neighborhood kids?
the depth of bad
feeling is in proportion
to how good we are
I will not walk away.
The moment the nurse
pressed your splotched
body into my arms,
your needs fixed my fate.
How to kick our national addiction to prisons
My grandmother didn’t
live to see her youngest son, my father, murdered in a Brooklyn
gutter by a fifth generation, drug-addicted, unemployed house-
painter whose ancestors were dragged here like devils in chains.
“Each year, the U.S. funnels billions of tax dollars to the Israeli government, funding obscene human rights violations,” said Rep. Cori Bush, who signed the letter. “We must stop funding Israeli apartheid.”
When fear scuttled through her thoughts
with its eight slender legs; when she recognized
the shiny black body, the bulbous abdomen
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.
He is already shriveling into an empty legend, a flimsy cartoon of ruthless malevolence.
I scythed, mowed, axed
hoed, trimmed, yanked
and eyed with vicious intent
this intruder eating my garden.
But the satanic bramble would not die.
Whether it’s dandelions blooming in your backyard or purslane sprouting from the sidewalk, vegan forager Alexis Nikole Nelson is on a mission to show how freely growing flora could make its way to your plate.