Juliette Givhan

At A Coffee Shop in Lansing, Michigan

Tender heart bloom Black man,
Shoulder sloped at the coffee bar—
You remind me of my father. Forgive me the softening of my eyes,
Pool slick and threatening storm—
It’s only because your blackness
Speaks to mine.
After so long alone
It sings a song that sounds like home

Home: The College Years

In the heart of a depression made syrup thick by summer sun
I smoked a cigarette for the first time. Another night— this time
at a party, this time in winter— I dragged off a friend’s American Spirit
while waiting for the cops to leave, so the band could start playing
again. That entire year, one of indifference— reaching for
strangers in the dark, bumming off new faces, swapping spit
with friends & randos outside of bars who thought I was cute
and straight. Home as culture. Home as chemical. Interactions:
nicotine & blood, mouth & filter, depression & day-to-day.
To form collective around knowing everyday you die—
choosing wreck, & speeding up the process.