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So what if I love him,
The one they call bad,
The one they call black,
The one with the gap
In his teeth only I get
To see. What if I risk
Taking the head of death
Here in the dark,
Far and deep, where
Burrowing beasts build
House after filthy house,
And nobody witnesses
My underworld gangster
Play kidnap, play Mama’s
Baby turned queen, and
If I scream, Pastel—he
Swears he’s sorry, unties
My feet. What if that’s
Worth a few bruises
Better than the light
Called spring, and I love
It, every drop of God
Weeping over me.
Jericho Brown is the recipient of fellowships from Harvard University and the NEA. His latest book is The New Testament. He teaches English and creative writing at Emory University.
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Poetry
in your carpeted office you lay my life down / and say open up to that small room in my sternum.
In his new book, the former Fed chair cuts through economic orthodoxy on central banking. But he fails to reckon deeply with its political consequences.
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