Jericho Brown

Romans 12:1

I will begin with the body,

In the year of our Lord,

Porous and wet, love-wracked

And willing: in my 23rd year,

A certain obsession overtook

My body, or I should say,

I let a man touch me until I bled,

Until my blood met his hunger

And so was changed, was given

A new name

As is the practice among my people

Who are several and whole, holy

And acceptable.

Cain

First, a conversation. Now,

A volcano. Call me quick-

Tempered vegan. Turnip

Lover. Fruit licker. Mound

Maker. Quiet. I can predict

An earthquake. I can cook

A rose. I’m first to kill

A weed.

My job

Is to look at the childhood I hated and say

I once had something to do with my hands.

I called them

Old, and they must have been; they’re all dead

Now, dead and in the earth I once tended.

The loneliest people have the earth to love

And not one friend their own age

Show me

A man who tells his children

The police will protect them

And I’ll show you the son of a man

Who taught his children where

To dig. Not me. Couldn’t be. Not

On my knees. No citizen begs

To find anything other than forgiveness.