October 21, 2026
—
Originally published in Issue No. 14 of The Bitter Southerner Magazine
Just give us the light
sifted through a Brita filter.
You can keep the diamonds.
Just give us dominion
over light. Nanobots & a day-
trader, to initiate
Genetic Photosynthesis:
a process by which melanoma cells
developed in the field-
hands—that twisted turnips into
Franklins; that tilled America
for life
under savage white
heat—are converted into wind-
falls & assets. Catamarans &
trawlers. An ocean liner or a house-
boat wrapped in exquisite portholes
& blowsy sails.
Just give us access to light
in equal measure: lighter sentences
to combat inherent bias, electrical
apprenticeships for petty crimes
committed to keep the lights on.
We just want a light hand
the same as any
child of God. Less baggage
more delight: more golden hours
soaked in on a balcony
midweek. Earth, Wind &
Fire floating
“Sun Goddess”
from a paint-splattered radio.
Open Pit, brown sugar, & smoke
ambering the olfactory. Peach cobbler
or Sorbet Black Delights
fanning indigo blooms
from cheap plastic planters
& Styrofoam cups.
An abundance of regal black violas
w/ honey eyes. Winking & bobbling
as we breeze by
community gardens
late for church or yoga
brunch. Let the light raft us.
Through glare & tall grass. As dawn
darning a hemlock grove. Constant
as the moon loosing the tides
into a wide smile
or a hula hoop.
Fuck the moon. Give us
the lightness: buoyant
& flooding out. Soothing ache
unseen, engulfing
as the water
we have carried.
The author of three books of poetry — Dear Mothership, Silencer, and Maybe the Saddest Thing, selected by D.A. Powell for the National Poetry Series — Marcus Wicker is an associate professor and the Orgill Chair of English at the University of Memphis, where he teaches in the MFA program. His honors include a National Endowment for the Arts Creative Writing Fellowship, the Poetry Society of America’s Lyric Poetry Award, a Pushcart Prize, and Ruth Lilly Fellowship.