We are metaphors for that which is unseen.

Boxer

no room for all that I wish to store, box and tape, away. Things fight in cramped space/inevitably, a loser slips out before I can clasp my lips like a purse. Spilled syllables in places that expect silence or adequate decorum./ A brave white woman smiles sympathetically before I avert my eyes/ self-flagellate the shame of having too much and too few corners to discipline memories of too much to process/ too stubborn to dissipate graciously. Memory is pugnacious, and I am no Jack Johnson or Ali. There is no four cornered ring refereed and betted upon / no trail of flashing lights and nutty buddy shaped microphones asking, how does it feel losing, again/no bell to signal, break, temporary rest amplified by screaming coach—hit……before he hits….move, move/ no half-closed eye, evidence of well- landed blows, no lip puffed and blood-stained, they faded, discontented, to feet bottoms, calloused and speckled/only shadow tall slightly rounded blackened body, neglectful in corralling syllables strung together eagerly from slipping and sliding into places, unwelcomed, here in this space

Requiem for Armadillo

Fall in Mississippi, armadillos, dead, limn roads

I’ve never seen an armadillo, living, walking on some errand of hunger, some rushed return home.

They must hide in the woods or under the Kudzu patch that walks toward my house.

Bodies, depleted of oils that make armor shimmer like glass in the sun, faded pile of unburied soldiers, their tiny feet like flags wave comically.
Backs too rounded and sloped forbid prostrate posturing,
Steadied by rigor mortis,they lean. Tainted by splotches and bruises, they testify.

Yellowed or flowery pink, their tails ingloriously angled.
No trail of entrails, perhaps the crows or random buzzards, flight attendants, collect and recycle them, if they are not distracted by steady traffic of hurried lives looking for anything, except an armadillo limned road.

Fall in Mississippi, armadillos unapologetically dead, limn roads between Oxford and Memphis.
Leaves will follow soon and they too will have no blues strummed about their sorrow.

I never see Armadillos except on TV nature shows and as stuffed overpriced gifts in airport shops that sell everything except discounted water and clove gum.