Behind these great walls
we tumble
painted ladies frame the fences
watch them crumble
their faces
cracked open by time
the wind, breathing in and out
bright bricks fall
they hit us hard
we don’t dodge the drops
we stand steady
yelling each other’s names
numb
loving all the way down
beneath the wreckage
and bone
-A. Long
Come,
time to put away childish things
emotions strewn about the floor
pick em up
shove em into your toy chest
let them rest away
where those who won’t break them
will scoop them up to play
by A. Long
Dammit, Athena, take away my father’s gold. Send me away
to live with lepers. Give me a pimple or two.
But my face. To have men never again be able to gaze
at my face, growing stupid in anticipation
of that first touch, how can any woman live like that?
How will I be able to watch their warm bodies
turn to rock when their only sin was desiring me?
All they want is to see me sweat. They just want
to touch my face and run their fingers through my…
my hair
is it moving?
By Patricia Smith
I am going back to her
to compare battle scars and sip
double dipped hot chocolate
To rekindle her light
I’m going back to her
yellow princess dresses
black boots, made for stomping
when she was all kinky tresses
To her questions, wonder, and guesses
To when she loved without prejudice
before any man had come between us
wanting to mend
that’s all I have at the end of the day
digging a dent
into my side of the bed
wanting to want to
but never leaving
give me definition
make me a label
something that molds to fit
tailor suited
call me a feminist
an artist
blackness
thickness
beauty
stereotype me into neatness
shape me
like men’s beards and pubic hairs
Go ahead and tell me exactly who I am
what womanhood I carry
who I should desire to marry, if at all
Look me up and down
and sideways
and frontways
and backways
and longways
until you figure me out
smooth out my rough edges with conviction
Tell the masses you have unlocked the answer
untangle the morass of lies
from those who despise
the vibe off of my vehement pride
whittle some feeble
words that encompass me
hold me in bondage
paint me into a corner
then apply turpentine
to erase every line
that gave me form
because I am without one, like
molecule or matter or breeze
jacoa beans dipped in steam
I am the slip
and putty and change up
in your bloodstream
on the concrete after the rally
And you have yet
And you have yet
And you have yet
to call me by my name
because you know I will answer
Enjoy this award winning dance film brought to you by Duncan McDowall. Thanks to him and his amazing creative team for sharing dancer, Dorotea Saykaly, and her breathtaking skills with the world.
The Poetry Corner 