Me and this tree share the same metaphor, both uprooted, without a sound. Split in half, now rootless. Who knows what evil brought us...

All of my work is a prayer of some sort. I witness, I testify, thank God, ask, cry out, and call in—my work is, first, a conversation...

My dad says love Is the only thing That can’t die. And if that is true I do not know why I am so afraid of dying. Perhaps it is because I...

I rap about my brother and Abbey say “I ate that” I swallowed my grief whole. I ain’t leave no crumbs. I ate the testimony. My grief...

Sometimes I feel like an abandoned church An echo chamber with empty hallelujahs  I am what is left of something holy  I am all stained...

The photographer asks why the air smells of smoke Like he don’t know Black girls become a fire in one sitting  A pile of ash  in a church...