FIXATING on the Wild Beauty of Strung Dried Peppers Hung by Don Garner’s Mom in their Kitchen

There are thirteen peppers that have been plucked from their vines

Red, orange, yellow, look like they're holding their breath

Strung on a line together

There are years unaccounted for, youths looked over, ignored

Lost performances of sweetness and heat, air and oil

Adhering seconds together

Oh the beauty of simply linked things

Crowns of clover, broken Christmas lights, costume wings

Green and gold, blue and white

When the tides carry it all away,

The water breaks everything down

Together

There's a womb growing, made of all our shared anger and despair

Where our skulls are conjoined, all the vast and unused bandwidth

Meadows of unopened blooms feeding on forgotten tombs

An old song that's never been sung, harmonies hung

On the collision of tongues

Making love, love making us

Making love, love unmaking us

Making love, love making us

Making love, love unmaking us

Together