By Lekey Leidecker
I have never seen anything
so perfect.
The crystalline crunch
on her tongue.
It’s enough to wipe
the taste of ten unsatisfactory
coffees from ten new mouths.
O, let the revolution be simple.
Let it ferment and age
and grow old.
Such thunder, savory and final.
It’s not that I’m not sad,
but there are things worth fighting for.
It’s that every night,
I’m awake
Mid-pandemic
overdue fires burning,
My husband
Reaching for me
In his sleep
Diaspora Baby Blues 