So I'm going to read two poems from the new manuscript
and then I have the last one will be from here.
So this is--
I hope I don't mess up this order.
This is from the new manuscript.
It's called Red Work, and it's a collection of poems
and little essays and also visual poems.
I don't know if you can--
Let me see if I can show one.
So I've got a lot of embroidery work in this one.
Here's one.
It's a big piece, but this is just
a copy of the embroidery work.
So all the embroidery work is done in red.
And so this is just one of the pieces.
The new book is called Red Work.
The new manuscript it's not a book yet.
But this is one of the poems from there.
It's called "Anatomy of Fire."
"The last time I shot a gun was the night my father told me
he should have killed my mother when he had the chance.
I buried my father that night, write the last poem for him,
leave it burning where he lay.
We do not leave each other.
Here is the tiny pulsing gene dancing in his blood
as genes do.
It does not question itself.
He does not question himself.
Warrior, weapon, the battlefield,
I have inherited my father.
Firing pin, pin caught in my throat
or in the tips of my fingers.
And the only thing between me and fire is this skin that
cannot hide its triggers.
I need not hold a gun to your head.
I need only touch my own face."