This is a test
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black, brown, and beige (a movement in three parts)
after Duke Ellington
Movement One: Black
work song
there is a graveyard in the belly
a hunger jutting crooked
like a tombstone.
a plantation in them lungs
dirt floors and hot air
a suffocated field
holla a rebirth
a migration in the throat
a barefoot chant toward
some muscled music
fractured rock—
freedom roll
come Sunday
a river runs
through every holy town
its lulling rush like the breath
of Jesus. a salve for Monday
blues cause he the only white
who sees us. have mercy river—
forgiver of sins, we born
again slaves
until Spirit
frees us
light
there is a tunnel as black
as singed bone
a congregation there
a chorus of winged mouths
a tunnel. a kaleidoscope
of echoes. a backbone.
a graveyard of grannies
searching for shadows
follow follow
black winged moths
into the tunnel of night—
a chorus of light slanted
like your church hat
your roof
the soles of your
shoes.
Movement Two: Brown
(West Indian) Influence
all this: African
that soft-shoe
that boogaloo
that cha-cha
samba
mambo
rumba
hustle
shing-a-ling
swing
slide electric
poplock
Lindy Hop
krump
twerk
alla that: African
that two-step
drunk with swagger
that limp—pimp walk
Harlem Shake Hollywood
shuffle
nigger
negro
nigra
nigga.
i
ain’t
brown
i’m
Black.
Emancipation Celebration
how it feel?
weightless
a body burdened
colored—freed
what lightness this?
to walk as if winged
every step a sing-song
sway. a new breed
what Christmas this?
Juneteenth jubilee
a throat without chain
a book—no one to read
what reverie idles
this mind, these hands?
who will tend this land,
reap this cruel seed?
The Blues
what good free
hungry?
what good hands
empty?
what good mouth
quiet?
what good God
invisible?
what good skin
colored?
what good black
blue?
what good hands
hungry?
what good mouth
empty?
what good God
quiet?
what good skin
invisible?
what good black
free?
Movement Three: Beige
Sugar Hill Penthouse
this skin a journey
a testament—a lynching
a litmus test see
how faces turn red,
acidic this skin
an acrid memory
tanging the tongue
how mundane this
skin a shade
and a half past alright
a nighttime creeping
a bucket of fresh
cream—memory
curdling
this skin a telling
a pointed finger—
evidence, a finger
print a witness
come Sunday (resurrection remix)
this here a church
your touch—
a tambourine
a quivering finger
possessed
our hands
pressed together
a prayer
blessed reunion
this skin
a bible page
a holyghost
in them legs
calves praising God
that run
in your stockings
the Devil
but every step
faith
every breath
religion
your glorious mouth
scripture.
past life portrait
machete, circa 1791
my widest mouth hungriest in morning break
fast a staccato thwack clacking stalks of cane
sugar my smiling blade but teeth sharpening
themselves against the sweet dull thud of routine
rusty renegades of serrated jag thirst
yonder fields set ablaze in rebellion—smoke
blackening sky beckoning a thousand mouths
like me, but alas, i remain— in boredom
i scalp dandelions, split plantains in two
whack my way th...
Table of contents
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Acknowledgments
- Contents
- how to get over Donyale Luna
- live
- lie
- love
- die
- Notes
- Biographical Note