God and Wine

She says,"[I] need to spend more time with [myself]...pamper yourself. Get a facial. Do your feet." The thing is, I do spend time with myself... reading books, writing essays, vision boarding. Are those things not of value? (That's rhetorical.) I'd much rather you fall in love with my mind than my manicure. And she'll never really get it , or me, because the ones closest to you understand you the least.  --- She says she prays for my future husband...because I'm cantankerous and not fixated on such feeble-minded feminine things. My masculinity is vastly apparent and apparently frowned upon. I will never be such a woman as she, and never did I desire to be. The polish on my pinky toe chips and tarnishes my pedicure, and I don't bother to cover up the imperfections of womanhood. We are not Grecian statues, frozen in time. We come to life and the perfect carvings are beautifully spoiled by the intrinsic malleability of the human flesh and soul. That is my wom...

Eat and Be Merry (draft) the fat beneath my ass does a warm nut brownie make makin me love and hate this new junk in my trunk and the sweet potato fries turn into rolls beneath my breasts this pregnant feelin ain't too cute and I ain't too cute in this swimmin suit jamabalaya, yaya, catfish collard greens and cornbread dreams are turning into nightmares 'neath these B cups that used to be A  cups of hot chocolate drizzled in caramel, whipped cream topped with marshmallows that have melted into these thighs breasts, legs of fried chicken are to blame for a zipper that don't zip no more jeans don't fit no more and these bras that now carve lines into my back like tracks, making love handles this ain't love, and I don't love that you love "a lil something to grab on to" this is war as I fight the urge to stuff this pain like turkey on a leafy day these carbohydrates I don't need cuz eatin clean and eatin green just makes me mean when all i ever w...

The color of your skin- a sort of lemon meringue- contoured around a full framed face. I wish I'd known you longer and felt your luscious smile. Contagious was the squint of your eyes, almond in shape, when your heart pierced through pearly stones and your cheekbones lifted  and the curve of your brow met silky black hair lined with grey edges. I wish I'd known you longer. A smooth, creamy complexion,  free from wrinkles, suggested an age other than your own; And you never knew your birth year; The evil that gave you high yellow  took your age as well. I wish I'd known you,  maybe to stand beside you in the mirror to see whiteness of my ancestors more clearly- to understand this high yellow I am in winter- to recognize the history behind these cheekbones- to know myself better- to know you ... The fullness of your nose and softness of your dimples caress my almond eyes, and what I've wished to know about you l...

Finally spring A nticipation of B rooklyn brunches C rop top lunches D ouble Dutch and E asy breezy F ruit stand smoothies G entrified greenery H arlem harems I ce cold beers in J ukebox joints and K aleidoscope prints as L uminosity lingers in M orningside Heights N oon   on 9th Ave and O mnipotent warmth P assing through Q ueens and R iding onto the S taten Island ferry T oddlers tiptoe in sandboxes U nder the shade V icariously, parents W atch on in reverence X ylophonic murmurings of the Y earnings for summer Z estfully fill the air

People live passively in Harlem just comfortably enough to not have to deal with Harlem To assert their privilege in silence and be visibly invisible What would it be like to sink hands in the quick sands of Harlem? To really know neighbors in a "Can I borrow an egg" kind of way? To say "good morning" to a stranger on the corner of St. Nick and 150th and mean it?

Fourteen hours on my feet. I wish the fairest of them all could walk a meter in my shoes. These wicked stumps called feet lay bruised. The bumps and blisters make their homes inside the skin that wraps the bones of fourteen hours--much too long--of stress and disarray. Fourteen hours on these toes. These fractured, fingered, feathered foes. And guest requests that run me ragged, ripping through these aging knees. This evil demon, arthritis, crawling through decrepit hips. I limp and linger, licking lips to hydrate for a moment--the shortness of this minute but an hour goes too long.

They said my black girl accent had to go Riffs and runs I sang so freely Diphthongs, twangs; I swallowed them And for a moment  wished I was bulimic To regurgitate the bull shit I’d inhaled about “real acting."