the woman in black

the word bag is mean and
when i am skin and bones

there are times of that

hanging from the ceiling of your mind,

enemy, foreign, i offering coffee as
insult to your sonhood, not taking
traffic circles seriously enough.  these
times i fly side to side anchored to

knowing i am despised and strangers
say hello and call me dear and it's

because they don't know my eyes
without black rings, my mouth colorless

those fists of thought, of words, fists, jabs
from eyes and frustrated sighs and
fake smiles as walking down the sidewalk,

we don't get each other's jokes.