The Grey Goose

But the knife wouldn’t cut him…
-Leadbelly

At the opening circle at Cave Canem
A woman tells a story of how
Some MFA workshop professor chose to reply
To a question about a draft by calling her
A nigger—I use the word he chose—
Then showing her and the other black poet there
The door. This happened when she was young.
What is it now? A shell, dripped like lacquer on her skin?
A splinter, stuck between vein and bone?

We re-taste his poison
In her voice. Poison that doesn’t kill you
Is still poison, even in a room filled with trust.

And her story is now our story
And also yours.
If her tormentor could see the ways we will
Survive this
He would burst into bloom.