After Amiri Baraka Poems are bullsh** unless they are eyegla**es, honey tea with lemon, hot water bottles on tummies. I want poems my grandma wants to tell the ladies at church about. I want orange potato words soaking in the pot til their skins fall off, words you burn your tongue on, words on sale two for one, words that keep my feet dry. I want to hold a poem in my fist in the alley just in case. I want a poem for dude at the bus stop. Oh you can't talk ma? Words to make the body inside my body less invisible. Words to teach my sister how to brew remedies in her mouth. Words that grow mama's hair back. Words to detangle the kitchen. I won't write poems unless they are an instruction manual, a bus card, warm shea bu*ter on elbows, water, a finger ma**age to the scalp, a broomstick sometimes used for cleaning and sometimes to soar.