I STILL GO OUT EVERY NIGHT DETERMINED TO COME BACK BRUISED.

Above the North Atlantic, his lola miles away––her endless hands his face hasn’t fallen into since ‘03, a red hibiscus perched on her windowsill he’s forgotten the scent of.

those glass doors that were left unlocked/since people like this can afford to trust

Remember the fire too easily extinguished/along the tongue’s long hallway

In the future, we find our names on/hurricane watch lists.

you’ve got pretty good at swimming, at holding your breath, at having your body hooked and then knifed and then used for its oil.

and palms sunrise until it melts like hard candy,

Mama, I bought the farm for you.

shank snapped, sawed/and split to three-quarters

One poem by henry 7. reneau, jr.