make this the last
colonial governor’s fixity
in place
last of its kind
from the country
that dug holes
for our bones
for gravediggers
after breaking
seasons
loves
languages
in the brokenness
we made our own
is it facetious to think
we could have it
any other way?
sweet tea
in chipped cups
dwelling in home cupboards
dark insides
polyvocal histories of
cracked plates
it’s strange
how names have
all that space
highways
and estates
signs that fall
into our own hands