Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

Mitchell L. H. Douglas
Inhabit
for Debra Kang Dean
At the podium, your fingers
find the page, flatten one’s back
to another’s stomach. The heel
of your hand stands north,
reverses the Great Migration.
Sometimes, you say, women poets—
poets of color—are called
to be spokespeople; I can’t
even speak for myself.
One month prior,
a day of bloom & warmth,
you sign your first book—
a surprise—hand your words across
a congregation of emptied plates.
I mouth the inscription:
a silent sermon. Today,
the microphone
raises your slow breeze timbre,
praises the beat of your heart.
You are a patient ventriloquist:
your lips move & the lyrics
float, bounce from speakers
hiding in the walls. Your hand
moves again, an opening
56 ◆ Crab Orchard Review