Good Hair
Jan 2020
Like palm oil, like plum trees,
Like streams...
Water races down brown forehead.
Down bridge of wide nose,
Wide rat tooth comb,
To part red seas
Ready to weave in
Length, weave in light in brown eyes
And edges, uncontrolled whisps, gelled down.
Good hair is coiling.
A body of tangled vines,
It cannot be turned to dirt.
Cannot be detangled
Cannot hold moisture on its own.
It requires good hands
Good oil.
Good hair cannot be held in mirrors, reflections,
It cannot be held in photographs
Only in light
only in palm oils.
M
Tonight We Dream of Men with Hands Cut Off.
Jan 2020
Tonight.
We wade in waters of indigo.
Its color,
from spirits, from ancestors.
We speak to them and ask them for forgiveness.
For mercy next time.
We ask them to show us who we were, before we were made undone.
Before we were made into mud,
Into pigs.
Into grease under rough fingertips.
Before we were made under weight,
under thick heated, hatred.
Some men hate the bodies of women.
For what it can do,
and for what it won't.
And take from it.
Leaving behind dreams of Men,
with hands cut off.
.
.
.
And women with grief.
M
Venus
November 2021
The planet of love.
Of the divine feminine
Somehow still, an anomaly to me
That we, as humans would dedicate
A planet of dense gases and roaring heat,
An Unlivable body.
It’s air alone, made to crush our very bones, and push ourselves inward.
That we as humans
Would hear of its groundless
Waterless,
Baren land,
An Occasional shadow casting across space,
A Floating sphere of nothing.
And think:
That is,
beautiful.
That is love.
And then I remember that a day on Venus lasts a year.
And I would spend the rest of my life,
Living for Another day with you.
And I knew that they were right.
M