Dear old friend
Who are you to open this door
And in your own time?
And where is the blessing I am owed?
I wonder why
Only God himself
would put white boy in brown womb
And will their coming save his mother?
how many miracles will rattle beneath his milk skin
speak in tongue and toothless
And when calvary comes,
whose hands will tie her noose?
I have hollowed this womb in search
but this skin is too unclean for salvation-
too flesh and ripe
But what does salvation know of rotting carcass
Of anything but honeyed shrines to pale pale Gods?
And how does this sweetness catch my breath and clench my lungs
do not speak
your tongue is stronger than
you will not carry this
But you do not fight alone
Like many things, I have a complicated
relationship with my blackness.
I have learned to hate a great many sins into it
which I am now unlearning –
all this contort,
all this bendback
in all this deepdark;
a colonized blackness would have this queer woman
at war with herself.
And what is it to love this black despite
and into so much hate?
and yet i know the monster is hungry to collect my bones on his way out
Who is counting my dead
What is it to be whole again
Can you swim in whiteness until you are wading, girl?
But there is no air in these waves
And that tongue will not keep you afloat.