Sandwiched in the hold aboard the Amitie, the Francis,
the unrisen, the bitter, (in)digested.
This bounty pressed onto the metal plate. An impression for each type.
Inscription, prescriptive. It is written. You have. You must. There
is a ribbon for this, as for. Tied together, they make.
Slapping back and forth. A ball like flesh like mud games and how
Eve was fashioned slapped between hands a borrowed bone, roasted egg
bitter herbs might cure a poisoned gram of mammary. What's another
scar? Scream gentleman transparency, stitch by stitch. The left panel
of her tuxedo is missing. Beneath is an iridescent lawn of skin, sustenance
and pleasure razed. The family name would be a subtraction of parts.
Tisa Bryant was born during the Vietnam War on an Air Force base in
Tucson, and grew up in Boston. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming
in the journals Blithe House Quarterly, Chain, Clamour, Kenning,
and Shellac; and the anthologies Children of the Dream:
Our Own Stories of Growing Up Black in America (Pocket Books,
1999), Beyond the Frontier (Black Classics Press, 2000), Step
Into A World: A Global Anthology of the New Black Literature (John
Wiley And Sons, Fall 2000), and What Is Not Said. Tisa’s first
chapbook is Tzimmes (a+bend press, 2000).