Wednesday, November 12, 2014


 for De'vorah L. Kappers

My PCA walked into
my new office and I know something up
by her paler than usual white girl pale.

“Devorah died,” she blurts
with out pretense, pulling the bandage
off my sudden, acute grief.

Tears spring
and eating the lunch she came
to lay out is a one way ticket to vomit.

She walks/I roll
outside instead,
beholding boats
until breathing finds normality
and I can return to the work of
learning new ways to free our people.   

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