FROM THE ARCHIVES
shook from temporary asylums
of our beds by crack of leather belt
on back & a basket of screams—
dreamless night & home smelling
of dead herons dad wore on his hands
four volcanoes erupting through our
chests, heavy eyelids tucked under pillows
we ran to the living room leaving fragments
of pink barrettes & hand claps at our heels
wedged ourselves between mom’s stolen
strut & graves he planted on her skin
four daughters screamed with scarred
throats & tear-splayed cheeks half-hidden
by her nightgown—assemblage of tiny
fists push against him like gusts of wind
bruises left on the islands of our bodies
we longed for cradled morning
when the sun’s mouth was gaping
oh how i secretly wished him to dust
so we would have permission to breathe
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Contributor Notes
Nadia Alexis, a poet, writer, and photographer from Harlem, is the author of the hybrid poetry and photography collection, Beyond the Watershed. Born to Haitian immigrants, her work has been widely published and exhibited.
She has earned numerous honors, including a mini-grant and Literary Arts Fellowship from the Mississippi Arts Commission, a Mississippi STAR Teacher Award, and recognition as the Poet of the Year Honoree of the Haitian Creatives Digital Awards. A fellow of the Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop and The Watering Hole, she holds a PhD and MFA from the University of Mississippi. She lives in Southwest Mississippi.
