deadness & other things akin to blackness
who comes into the world a Big Bang & leaves a whisper? ans: black womxn.
this girl i used to know was parenthetical & lavender-smelling // a golden microphone broadcasting
traumas // i recognized her in my coffee // the way the air shifted // she had a name, but everyone
preferred to call her by the things she wore: pocketbook girl; shoe lady // she oftentimes found
herself on blood-stained sheets in some fat truck driver’s whore penthouse // one day, in a harsh
winter, her BMW got trapped in the driveway, & because girls like her never became wives, just
liabilities // just something to soak in when you had the time // she shoveled it out herself & broke
her hip // so started the story of the dying star dripping her cosmic wonder through every opening
on her body that could shit something through // she’d turned into nothing but a bullet in the brain //
that girl… // had her spine stolen from her // & while everyone’s eyes were awash with tears, i
thought to myself: the body is just some odd undercarriage needing constant protection