How do we crumble?
The newspaper scrolls the morning by. This black and white world unfurls its terms:
A clear face that, wiped of its features, fades into a blinded night; an uprising
in a bordering town; a black on black crime of uncountable skulls (which
flower in whiteness—and whiteness). What creeps into the body and wants to dig its way out?
How do we dissolve?
The shutter flickers. All goes black. The morning shatters in its cage.
The hood stays put, and the body covered up, arms stretched out,
is a hanger of wires. A wooden box holds the weight of a man.
How does he stand?
The photo will not reveal the time. The footage will not disclose the spot.
The victims will not be returned to their states of non-knowing.
The victims will not be returned to the page of before this.
How is this read?
Danielle Legros Georges is a professor at Lesley University and author of Maroon, a collection of poems. Her poems have also been published in such periodicals as Agni, The Caribbean Writer, American Poetry Review, and Black Renaissance/Renaissance Noir. She has received an LEF Foundation Fellowship and a MacDowell Fellowship for her work. She was born in Haiti.