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Richard Hamilton
The Storied Self Is a Volcano, a Fire
At the heart of delirium, damn if
Everyone should live. The sangha, Polaroids—
Keepsakes above your bed, those succulents.
Image of Frederick Douglass, the chewed mandala-
Like awnings hung over the picture frame.
Tetsuko,
Your best friend, bronzed arrow, wincing before
Moral panic. You asked me of his death,
In the aftermath of an AIDS crisis—
Fingers in the maraschino cherries
On the plain, half bagel topped with capers,
Lox and cream, disability insurance
Spent. Tend to the storied self, I said.
The tendril softly twined about the snake
Plant. Yet fire is no more useful than
To the beloved arsonist,
Burning down his warmest chamber.
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Richard Hamilton (he, they) was born in Elizabeth, New Jersey, and raised in the American South. A poet and critic, he recently held the 2023-2025 fellowship in poetry at the Center for African American Poetry and Poetics at the University of Pittsburgh. Hamilton is the author of two books of poetry, Rest of Us (Re-Center Press, 2021) and Discordant (Autumn House Press, 2023).