The Tradition

by Jericho Brown

Ready like the syllables Of a very short sentence, all Of us crying mine, like babies who Grab for what must be beautiful Since someone else saw it.

When you’ve been worked on for so long, you never know You’re done.

The man who tinted me best kept me looking a little Like a chore.

everyone Rising just to find a way toward rest again.

When black vocabulary heralds home- Made belief: For any kind of havoc, there is Deliverance! She means that even after I am Not listening. I am not a saint Because I keep trying to be a sound, something You will remember Once you’ve lived enough not to believe in heaven.

What’s yours at home is a wolf in my city. You can’t accuse me of sleeping with a man.