Seaman Recruit Robinson was a petite black woman
always smiling, though few met her eyes.
On first look you saw the scar, her entire
face was burn—a healed swirl of pink 
and brown, a nose less nose than placeholder
for the center of her face. But her eyes 
and smile—those calmed every one 
of us. And she did know us all, knew 
names and with every small conversation
remembered our stories. Hey, Goff, you
get a letter from your granny in Georgia?
Recruit Wortman, tell me about the desert


Subscribe to RSS - Poetry