Machete

I am more than the world you asked me to be— 

tributary dissolving the brain, 

sediment like fentanyl 

in the vein. Clean needle. The alley, 

the first valley, the diasporic dream— 

your hands become earth 

& rise as a tricked-out Jeep, 

a ghost horse 

tethered to the fender. 

Now, I am pen. 

The after. 

Before snow, 

I traded yucca 

for ether 

& had no need for a coat.