ASA DRAKE
Letter to my Younger Self
When I see men digging clay beside the confederate
monument, I want to know
Weekly poems, selected by the editors. Featuring new work as well as poems from our rich archives.
When I see men digging clay beside the confederate
monument, I want to know
I humbled my hand
through a wound in Carolina
I see scattered rivers and think I might belong here to stay.
She walks, a bit lost, between the shores
If you feed an animal what it will eat
sometimes you kill it.
Two votive plaques
crept on
along the windowsill
ants stream in
seeking water
I text my friend the photos of this iced creature curling in on itself, a wick burnt beyond its usefulness
He sent me into a rapt confusion, looking and listening
I am not always hypervigilant
about killing bugs when they tangle
in my locs.