It’s Important I Remember That Enslaved People Married Here—

(To use the PDF embedder to see all pages of the poem, use the arrows on the bottom left-hand side.)

Text:

scaled the summit of ovation in one leap / over that solemn broom, swept demons / away, were swept up and into a scheme / of tender mercies, salve for souls frayed / like a singular allowance of cloth / by field labor under sun and overseer. / In those days, if death parted you / from your beloved, then you / were blessed beyond belief / being that license for the ceremony was / recorded on a cloud that came close / enough to the earth to stain with fingertips /

When he parted you, / you were parted.

When the white man of white men / spoke the words it was / as if the continents split, / the countenance split, / an ocean’s worth of salt water spilled / into every sort of separation / now surfacing on the human face: / a man’s, a woman’s, a child’s / like both and like neither. / But one point to make / in favor of advancement / is that we can say goodbye / on our own terms now, / on good terms or bad, / though you and I hold out hope / that our magical evening will be / when the shaky ground beneath us / is reconciled for good / like the broken bond of a bone. / Contracts have been signed, / checks have been cut and hard- / earned cash withdrawn / damn near out of my ice-cold hands: / all that’s left is to vow / continuance in the face / of every conflict / and challenge that confronts us, / contorts us into knots inside / that mock the one we tied before God.

Love, I’m as hefty as a sparrow can be / and still be able to defy the law of gravity, / soaring at the prospect of a promise, the dress I haven’t laid eyes on delicately / resting in a garment box in our closet / next to the clutter of modern domesticity / I’m reflecting on all the bygones / that I favor phenotypically when your own father’s face crosses my mind like / analog noise and I anxiously twist / my finger where a precious band is / soon to be, easing back into the heaven / we purchased on sale from West Elm / and turning on the TV—cable news— / the white man of white men on-screen / where I left him the night before / every night for years now.

When he parts you, / you are parted.

That’s what all the journalists say, / partly why some friends claim kids / would be a particularly irrational decision. / Yet I’ve insisted. And we’ve decided / on first names if not a firm number, / as we are descendants of dreamers / who never saw black as black. We— / an abundance they feared and abhorred. / I love you, in the light of that dark past, / is so insufficient, so light / on how we save each other each day, / but it’s all that I have to say: / this is my singular allowance, / a simple sleeve to wear on / what might be called feelings / but more faithfully should be called / faith.

Read more from Issue 18.2.