Totem
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Sportin' Life
Of a Sunday along Seventh, fit to the gills in herring- bone, a mother- of-pearl handled wisely, thumbing the fob pocket like a Van Der Zee dandy, flatted- fifth, whiskey neat, gone struttin'
El Cipitio
Ever young with feet facing west I face east. My gift to husbands, horns while vespers bud like cotton between their lovers' painted toes. She had helped me wrap the gift. I knotted her finger in the bow.
Jasbo Brown
I flashed tunes, grinning like a new hubcap. My whistling camouflaged a kiss, riding a struggle-buggy up from Huntsville bound for the Southside rain that came and wet puddle basins, made the flagstone finish jet. Spunk is the surest horse this season, said she. [End Page 951] And Washington bought his teeth from slaves. He taught us: smile and the world smiles with you.
Truong Chi
Fog banded the marsh beside her window. Shaved ice, pekoe tea. Enameled finger softened by the crystal, she could almost hear me sigh. Could almost see my song still eddy, voiceless, counter to the silken tide, the river breaking silence, woken, pages on the water where I died.
Gregory Pardlo, who teaches at Medgar Evers College in Brooklyn, New York, has published poems in a number of periodicals and anthologies, including Seneca Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Hawaii Review, and Callaloo. He received the MFA in poetry from New York University.
