In Dominique Christina's second full-length poetry collection, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, she delves into the hard truths of past historical traumas re-emerging into our everyday lives. These poems do not run away; they run toward the reader with both brutal honesty and nuanced imagery she has come to master. Poems include: "The Period Poem," "Birmingham Sunday," "Karma," "Emmett Till (Strange Fruit)" and more.


This book is Dominique Christina's first full length volume of poetry. Published by Penmanship Books in New York. It is as much confession as it is celebration of all the music and macabre that make us so deeply human...so impossibly free.

The Dream About Silence...

In the dream

I am a swallowed mouth.


I cannot find my throat.


My tongue will not pull up

From her watery grave.


Everyone is fat from my silence-

They never stopped eating.


My stories are 

Small brown birds.


They do not know 

What love is...


They do not remember 

Their nests. 

The Dream About Shouting...

In the dream 

Every word

Is covered in red paint.


I speak 

And it looks like a murder scene.


They try shutting my lips 

With caution tape.


But I am burning 

My mouth down.


It will come back to me

A new thing...

No troll-bridged tongue

No yawping 

Soundless empty.


In the dream

I am waiting 

For my mouth to be born.


When she is...


Everything will be loud. 

A Legacy Can Look Like...

Your mother will likely die

With your name on her lips.

This is not a statement of arrogance.

It is a dangerous knowing.

She will leave with your whispered remains

Etched firmly in God's ear.


You will slip your head into your neck and 

Cry for all the things you could not tell her

And these things will swallow your mouth.

You will promise to give your daughter 

A wide space to lie down in.


You will study your reflection in the mirror

Looking for the anthropomorphic evidence

Of your mama's legacy.


You will find it in your cheekbones 

It will feel flimsy.


You will get more tattoos.

It will be flimsy but you will do it anyway.


Refuse to cry when the needle 

Pricks your skin.

There will be better reasons to bleed later.

And you know it.


Your mother will be the dirge 

That drives your mouth down.

You will never smile with all your teeth again.


You have forgotten how to remember her

Without regret.


You will write poems trying to 

Call her back into her body.


It will not work.


And you know it. 

But you will do it anyway.

Do it for always.


She will always be the things you could not say.


You will search your daughter's mouth

For the same secrets.


You will find them...


And pretend 

They are hers.