“The cicada’s envelope”
Wednesday is Tuesday’s child
And says ‘I told you so’
And Wednesday is represented by a girl in her door jam
Nodding her head
Not bored just ready to leave
This is what it is to be born
You are awarded a shadow
A black wife with thin wrists
She sleeps on floors, trips on puddles
And eats light like a locust
Tonight the moon is coming back
Black-eyed from trade routes
He pulls from his pocket spices, a cicada’s envelope
And a mirror
He shoves into the shelf of a cloud
To confuse the face of the lake
