Pelican Tracks

Hurricane Lamp

 Hurricane Lamp When we fill the lamps, the waters rise, And the families across from us Stroke their pirogues through the deadend street. How can the soot-slight glass of the chimney Keep its flame against A wind that beats both fists on every window? Even if the flood damps down the fire ants, There’s still the sting Of pine straw launched into night and skin, Of cottonmouths that belly on the crest, Writhing by Like the lopped-off arms of black men. Mama’s busy at the stove, stirring up A mess of neckbones, Collards, dirty rice—but who could eat? By the light that winces on the cracked wall, Afraid of its own shadow, I pull the pillow to my eyes and pray For dry dawn out of darkness, for sunbows Over the sucking drains, For all the wicked and the wickless. ...