12/15 poem

Django, part three

How many times did your tongue
warp around itself before correctly
uttering her name?  Broomhilda.
Broomhilda. Broomhilda. Baby.
Sweetness. Trouble maker. Pearl.
Did she teach you how to press out
the r as if exhaling a snort of poppies?
Did she teach you how the h cradles
the il as a deaf infant while running
for shelter in a rainstorm? Broomhilda.
Broomhilda. Broomhil—shh…it’s okay
baby. You good. You smell me just fine.

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