The burgundy bugs crawl all around in my brain. Dancing under the pink meat of my face. Their little sticky, sinister feet march again and again. If I wasn’t insane I’d probably feel the bass of their feet dancing under the pink meat of my face. Chomping on the raw insides of my cheeks… Continue reading A Pantoum on Infestation
Sonnet 2: The Blues A blue butterfly landed on my windowsill last night and I let him in because you had the same eyes. But his skin was blue and yours was black but your aura had a blueness to it. Do you still feel that way sometimes Blue? You never told… Continue reading Sonnet 2: The Blues
I don't know why I'm telling you this, but I sat in the car all Sunday afternoon weeping until my eyes became raw and swollen, which I do every Sunday from 3:30pm to 4:30pm while my husband watches football, before heading back inside to continue being a wife. When I first started this ritual, the neighbors… Continue reading ‘Til Death Do Us Part.
Heavenly wore a green thong on the stage each night. She loved the way it matched her eyes, gave her chocolate skin a glow, and signaled a green light for the men in the audience. But more importantly, she loved the way it matched her favorite thing–money, honey. And she made a lot of it.… Continue reading Dollar Bills.
I thought I had to take a break from book thrifting and used book sales for the summer since I left San Francisco. But, today accompanying my sister on a trip to the Salvation Army and Goodwill for a retro bomber jacket for a 90s party this weekend, I stumbled upon an amazing book deal.… Continue reading Adventures of a Bookworm: Monday Gains!
He sat at the bar with his buddies, hovering over a watered-down shot of patron he’s been taking sips of all night. His friends were taking shot after shot after shot, but he was working on the same shot and bottle of beer all night. She didn’t like him to drink. She was supposed to… Continue reading Different Shades of Black.
He stared at me, hidden and protected by all the dropped heads looking at their phones in the crowd. He looked like an officer, but most white men do to me. He had a gun snuggling against his hip though. But he didn’t have a uniform on, just a faded shirt that said FBI: Female… Continue reading Black-handed
He couldn’t see her in the tiny storage closet, but he could smell her. She smelled like home. Not his home, which reeked of greasy pizza boxes and inside-out underwear, but home. She smelled of sweet pea body wash and the mint chocolate-chip gum she always kept a pack of in her purse. That was… Continue reading In a Storage Closet in Paris.
I’m not racist but, who was that lunatic? I should have thrown his hands behind his back and frisked him. But then people would accuse me of racial profiling. There’s been enough war between white cops and the black community. I didn’t want to deal with the heat I would receive for questioning this dangerous… Continue reading Undercover and Armed.
Black. Black. Black. Black. Black. Six bodies of black hanging against the wall. Dirty eye sores in a world of clean skin. Blackness–creeping up on me like a robber under the night sky. I can’t see myself in the whiteboards, because I see all of the black smudges that people have tried to erase. That… Continue reading Black and White.