barry shot a 3 / views frm the ivory tower
sketch a sublime,
of a mind before mines,
barry’s on TV and it looks like everything’s fine.
ode to Sunday church service
shiny black kitten heels on dirty floorboards that creak and groan with every breath
long ivy white lace dress, your mom squeezed on just hours before with two high pigtails
your little fingers dig into the pew while you try not to kick the seat in front of you
your great-grandmother gives you and your sister two quarters each
which you roll around in your palm, waiting for the golden offering plate
A Really Good Story
I wrote a really good story when I was 18.
A father had a nightmare one sleepless night,
Of a frightened girl gone woman.
my head first popped out in the dark continent
my head first popped out in the dark continent
and i extended my hands like the goddess nut to tickle the underside of india
i let the golden dew of the sun drip on my stomach, slow as syrup
my name means burning, searing bird of ashes
i think i shed my ashes in the great lakes where i rest my feet
Between Our Eyes
Between our eyes:
we lay on the red desert sands,
your embrace protects me,
my voice soothes the race of your mind,
though I can see the many Martian moons rising,
time seems stuck in your embrace
Water in the Basket
How many more shades of grey
must we palette, canvas, scratch—
away // tears—through just to leave
noire squares? Yet purple hearts bleed true
Black is Beautiful
Oh, how beautiful it is to be Black,
although “the land of the free” placed targets
on our backs
we prevail, lift our heads to the sky.
WE/R\VB/R\
The cunning, clever spider Anansi wove wisdom itself, teaching the West African and Akan people lessons in intelligence and humility. In the Eastern Hemisphere, spiders embody knowledge, patience, and creativity; yet in the West, they often evoke fear with the association of danger and darkness.
wash day requiem.
you’re seated on the cold countertop of the kitchen
her hands tugging at your hair like god
she pulls this way
and you pull away
they dance with me
folks sing the same old songs
sang em just about every day
calling on home,
somewhere to return to
A Dream / The Archive
I saw the night fall unto midnight
and the sun make its neverending rise
I watched a baobab grove grow, my life
never on my own
The World’s Eyes
I have known you for all your days
I guided your first step
and breathed your first breath
and will give you air for your last
in defense of “angry”
Papers fly and pigs will too when
they don’t look at me with contempt for
what I have accomplished in spite of their
war crimes that go unpunished. Days
Threads
White stitching on navy fabric presses ridges into my thumbs.
This dress is perfect for those pearlescent pumps bought for her two weeks ago.
I register that I don't wait, returning to see if the price has dropped
like I did with Mother–
instead I buy it and pay extra for gold wrapping paper.
and then I’m reminded of my place here
The yellow orange body part of trees crunch underfoot as I cross 14th,
The murmur and running of engines sound like the thrum of people passing by. Walking through our Memorial to Enslaved Laborers, a woman shouts, “Go on kids, go play!” I watch her lifeblood grip and trample onto the sculpted stone structure,
Joro, Jara, Joro: An Ode to Fela Kuti
Hours flow, traffic stops abrupt.
Corrupt zombies go straight
