Harryette Mullen Poems

Pulling out of the old scarred skin
(old rough thing I don't need now
I strip off
slip out of
...

Forgive me, I’m no good at this. I can’t write back. I never read your letter.
I can’t say I got your note. I haven’t had the strength to open the envelope.
The mail stacks up by the door. Your hand’s illegible. Your postcards were
defaced. Wash your wet hair? Any document you meant to send has yet to
...

if your complexion is a mess
our elixir spells skin success
you'll have appeal bewitch be adored
hechizando con crema dermoblanqueadora
...

the essence lady
wears her irregular uniform
a pinstripe kente
syncopation suit
...

arrives early for the date
to tell him she's late
he watches her bio clock balk on seepy time
petals out of rhythm docked for trick crimes
...

Sapphire's lyre styles
plucked eyebrows
bow lips and legs
whose lives are lonely too
...

mister arty martyr
a jackass to water
changing partners in
the middle of a scream
...

We need quarters like King Tut needed a boat. A slave could row him to
heaven from his crypt in Egypt full of loot. We’ve lived quietly among the
stars, knowing money isn’t what matters. We only bring enough to tip the
shuttle driver when we hitch a ride aboard a trailblazer of light. This comet
...

just as I am I come
knee bent and body bowed
this here's sorrow's home
my body's southern song
...

They just can't seem to . . . They should try harder to . . . They ought to be more . . . We all wish they weren't so . . . They never . . . They always . . . Sometimes they . . . Once in a while they . . . However it is obvious that they . . .
...