A REMINDER AND RECKONING (in need of a rest)
at some point i must admit
that i am not composed of stone
that i am not an iron spit
hot but unburned above the flame
at some point i will need to sit
and take heed of my flesh and bone
and maybe even cry a bit
and beat my head and scream my name
jason jason grind and grit
don’t forget you’re not alone
for everywhere is where you fit
and everyone feels just the same
ON COSBY (or OFF COSBY)
cliff huxtable snuck
late night snacks. nightmares. woke up
in a different world.
ON HUBRIS AND KANYE
what happens when you
start to see yourself
more as savior
than servant
what makes a king jam
the tines of his crown
into the chests of
the crown makers
and gesture as jester
jesus as they bleed
WHAT WE DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT WHEN WE TALK ABOUT JORDAN
i was lucky i felt
lucky to be around
to see a black man
fly through the air
tongue out to tease
the world camera
flashes bouncing off
bald shine ball in
hand outstretched
superhero red and
black and black man
had me feeling lucky
to be black turned
shoes into spaceships
and forcefields and
targets worth the
risk as a black boy
who believed they
could make me jump
higher than hate
i hate to say this
now i hate to say
this now i hate to
say i felt like a
fool to find he
thought less of the
boom bap and record
scratch that made
him took him from
athlete to astronaut
red there is red
around here and black
kids in your city see
it and many wear your
shoes while walking
through minefields they
have given their
arms to you and hope
to make it to your
jersey number
the first one and
you be the last one
to come around and
to me someone who use
to feel lucky about you
knows that’s just
bull shit
THE PROBLEM WITH JUST OUR LUCK
we would joke about how
we’d all grow up and have daughters and daughters would be some kind of penance for the sins of sons
like we aint have mothers
like we aint know the difference
between human and couch
like daughters are ominous mind-changing curses wrapped in cute
da da juju
im buying a shotgun
no dating until thirty
chaperoning prom after i
threaten her date
our mirror our memory
a madness in masculinity
making it about us
when it’s never been about us
and always about us
and now i wonder what if
we all had sons
HOMEGIRL
i grew up with fight you girls
hoodied and booted and vaselined
face shining like fingers after fried food
girls with teeth tongues and bedazzled
bricks for fists and snatch-backs like
fountain streams of black gold
eraser back earring girls who
blow bubbles and burst them whose jokes
are jagged recitations of rap lyrics
whose hinged necks use halos
as loose hula hoops ’round their heads in case
i ever got too comfortable with heaven
FATHER SON BONDING
praying hands handcuffed, engulfed in flames sewn, burned, etched
into my forearm either says that i needed to say something or
i was a dramatic fifteen year old. or i needed to cry out.
my father watched to make sure i didn’t cry. he was the king
of tattoos. arms covered since i was a kid. limbs like graveyards
for lost siblings and lost minds and lost times when black aint
ink at all, when ink aint show at all unless you wanted to starve
or fight or be called not black. you been hanging with crazy
white boys. you crazy if you think you can do what they do to
their bodies, if you think you can call it art, if you think you
can attach it to an africa you never knew. don’t you know what
the bible say about temples? so i got a cross the following
year. and a dove on my back because doves were in and im a peace
cliche at eighteen. and an ankh on my chest because i grew up seeing
my mother where one around her neck before music made us wear
brown and green and pretend to know things we didn’t, but feel like
we could be things we wanted. poetry. and pride. and a kora on my
leg and a typewriter and some circles, the horn of a continent my skin is
itching to be scratched by, sankofa on a sofa and on and on and on. my body
is a timeline. dots on a spectrum. stakes in a porous land. a gallery
building being ever built based on the blueprint inked into my father’s brown.
