Do You Doubt That?
And will he not come again?
for an Ophelia, holding
your tongue/eventually still
for the river who cannot call you mad
as it wrings the rue and silence out of the dark
of your belly
and the whitewater smears death
ripe, into your skin.
Recognize your lungs bursting with the
noise of absence.
The book tells me that you are only missing a mother.
—By Rina Nkulu