On Hearing
tympanic, the windows
shook
but, causality?
who could say
On a blank piece of paper,
I’ve never known when I am finished.
These sentences.
This word salad.
Do they add up to more than what’s on the page?
I never can tell.
But add some intersecting lines
Just. Merely.
Some. Some.
Columns. Rows.
And suddenly all the puzzle pieces fall right into place.
On a spreadsheet,
It’s always clear when I am done.
When the whole = the SUM of its parts.
But is that true?
Or is it just because,
I haven’t tried to say anything more?
No justice no peace
But they all got a piece
Strapped to the teeth
And they’ll bust it at a man just tryna help people eat
-Body Bagdhad
one muhfuqua It’s like a jungle outside It makes me wonder why I aint raining thunder
two muhfuquas (spark notes for everytime a cop touches the trigger)
2020 blind
a blindfolded night clutching dual hammers
Clapping. no. more like a bakers dozen of hot rounds
of applause only whyte folk here
they said it sounded like hot lead sizzling
through rain drops before digging into a chest.
I asked the old heads and they said all.
they heard niggas screaming and pigs laughing
but nobody saw a thing
three muhfuquas (meanwhile in a building somewhere) they sit back sipping cotton gin and tonics watching fox news in the breakroom between takes of taking a knee on truth could be a metaphor for something. but maybe I’m faking.
4our ever hear of a bully wake up one morning and see the light? I haven’t. they usually don’t listen until they have them lights turned off
disconnected. no longer in service. no longer in service. no longer.
i am calm with cold feet
i am a nap taker with full
bellies, a fourth time
mother to plants, a
book at the bedside table
placed just for show i am
laughter when you need it
quiet when i shouldn’t be.
i am twenty five not twenty
one
an age where i desire though afraid
i am a lonely keg of thoughts
a pixie stick made at home
a porch sitter, friend,
cigarette lighter. an eye batter
and hair pusher, a lover
a lover in the past tense
long leg bones
furred with lacey moss
a single cracked rib
a skull with good teeth
pretty girl
returning to earth
would any other
meet this lonely death?
All lives matter,
what a
joke,
that’s the
whole
point.
There are
African American
lives
being taken
and those
who are
peacefully
trying
to support
them
are
being
tased, maced,
and shot
for
no reason,
and people
have the
audacity
to
say that
all lives matter?
Such ignorance
makes
my blood
boil.
All lives do matter,
but
that isn’t
what all of the
discrimination
and
brutality
says.
Maybe,
if we all
just
listened,
we would
finally
realize
that
is
what
we’re trying
to change.
We all matter.
Now prove it.
He’s restless, wants
to keep moving, flings
his forearm back
& forth & back & forth
& back to prove – to
himself; not me, I know –
he still has control.
His right hand – no longer
the dominant one. He eats
with his left – at the wrist,
it flaps in dismay, chooses
not to cooperate today.
some nights, a heart turns heavy
wells up with water like you fill
a latex balloon meant to grow
with gas and air and lighter particles
that expand and lift it into sky
but some nights, the faucet’s on
full blast and the balloon drops
into steel-cold kitchen sink
stretches down to touch the drain
gets so weighed it flops, falls
water gushing out before its end
can be twist-tied up and you thank
god it wasn’t knotted, it didn’t bust
The steps of the ladder rose
One above the other
Sweat above her lip and brow
A low belly sick
Paralyzed by her fear
A superstition not able to rationalize
She stood to the side
Passerby’s in quick step succession
Heart vibrating her breast plate
Eyes darting to and from
Her eyes to the strangers, the strangers to her
Fear shooting up her neck
Sweat trickling down her back
Anxiety growing
Heat unbearable to feel
She could just turn around
Quick shuffle to across the street
No ladder to cross under
She stood frozen
Unwavering like the wind
The wind that swayed the ladder
It is the silence that I find
most frightening-
those frozen moments where
dissecting oneself
feels inevitable.
Today is among
the many
where I’d like to be
a non-entity-
tear away fingerprints
and lose identity
in the haze.
I oscillate between
wanting to burn
behind every pair of lips
my name grazes
and hoping to be reduced to
unrecognizable ash.
As spring loses herself
in the death of a season,
I watch, enraptured,
and wait for the
chiarascuro of the heart
to define me.
