Porcupines
i pull hard at the harp like an archer.
.
& let go everything sharp, everything
.
with an edge in me. everything that
.
has a fang but not a tongue of its own.
.
my grief is not wind-borne. i hurl this
.
concave cymbal like a boomerang on
.
its leash. outside this shelter, a plague
.
stretching its empire around the world
.
fastens a mouth like a griot to his reed
.
like a crown of thorns. like a god, i go
.
into a language using the wrong map,
.
the wet leather map of my tongue up-
.
turned. i got lost and i’m never coming
.
back & sing all day til my voice breaks.
.
til the daybreak. i draw this harp again,
.
many-stringed bow & let go everything
.
that’s held you back. the arrows bounce
.
off the wall, turn back at me. gooseflesh
.
open, making a home for their landing.
.
your hairs shoot tiny quills like nervous
.
porcupines against a song with spikes.