Poetry Porn

I recently had the honor of performing at an amazing art event for my solar sister, Rhonda Rae.  She asked me to perform the piece for this show because I , apparently am one of the women who has inspired her. I was blown away by that. To be an artist is a constant struggle with yourself…asking if you’re making an impact or if anyone is even paying attention. Rhonda reminded me that not only did she pay attention, but she loved me. That’s dope and it was an HONOR to perform at her event.

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I chose one of her art pieces as inspiration for the poem I wanted to perform. I haven’t written poetry in AGES, y’all. And I certainly hadn’t performed any in YEARS. But the piece she showed me (which sadly, I don’t own….yet…LOL), inspired me on a lot of levels.

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The piece is called “Solar Sister” and the first thing I thought of when I saw this piece is “God, I LOVE yellow.” LOL. Nah. The picture I have posted does it NO justice. There are deep layers of color here, streaks of ochre amidst canary yellow, a thin strip of yellow beads resembling a scar, the shimmer of a golden circle. I LOVE this piece and it got me thinking of the sun and it’s power and the solar chakra, the chakra of will power and control. I thought of Oshun, the orisha of beauty and art and fresh water…how she is stunning but not one to fuck around with. I thought of my mother and my grandmother and the way they asserted their power, how they reminded people they were not the ones to fuck with. I thought of how I asserted that power. I thought of the source of that power and where its roots are.

Out of that inspiration, came this piece. Thank you, Rhonda for allowing me to grace the stage at your event. Thank you for nudging me to write poetry again. Thank you for your inspiration and kindness and love.

SIDE NOTE: Rhonda is having her closing event for Resilience: Across the Spectrum THIS SATURDAY, October 8th, 2016 from 3pm-8pm at MorePointsBX, 527 Faile Street, Bronx, NY 10474. Come through and show some love. I’ll be there collecting books for an event of my own (post on that coming soon). 

Where the Belly Meets the Root

Inside of me, deep down,
where the belly meets the root,
is a sunstone woman…
una guerrera….
She is slow to blaze,
speaking honey then flames…
her roar consumes like backdraft when she goes unheeded.

She stood on the shoulders
of a canary silk dress years before she was mine…
His hand spoke,
plancha hot on the back of her neck….
“You go this way because I say so.
Your sunshine curves over melao
and I can’t control the looks men give you when you wear butter on your thighs…
sweet witch who talks to wisps of spirits in the ether.
Don’t talk to them…
they’ll tell you the truth about me…
I’m not the man you think I am…
But I’ll stomp out the embers you think you got burning.
Fuck sunshine,
you wear what I say.
You talk when I say.
You fuck when I say.
Now walk.”

She left scorched earth across his face
that night when she fought back.

Arrogant Icarus…
You walk the surface of the sun and she’ll burn you.

Years before she sat in my belly,
she whittled the curve of shoulder blades that pressed into iron car doors..
Serpentine hand over throat made of heat,
Fingertips rise to cover lips, it hisses…
“Why you acting like that? All hot under the collar….
Just shut the fuck up…
You know you want this.”
Palms sear when she burns him,
scratches skin so clear the welts rise like flames…
“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. My. Face. Cabron.
I don’t want SHIT from you!”

Gifted to me at birth,
this warrior woman sat,
where the belly meets the root….
and knew all along that hands would try to smother her again….
Is her shine so much they have to contain it?
Is her fire so uncontrollable they fear for their lives?
Are they so fragile they can not see she lights up the world?
So, she warned me….
of hands that soon sat heavy on my thighs, squeezing,
“I’ll take your honey, Sunshine.
And I’ll strip you down to beams of light…
because your fire is mine.”

I played them dust,
whispered embers in their ears,
left them standing in their ashes…
soot underfoot they are charcoal memory in my rearview mirror.
Let me remind you that even the fire tastes sweet.

Un incendio en esa mujer, they say.
A fire in her belly,
Just look at her eyes.
Woman who cannot be doused…
She is fuel…
flicker, flame, fire…
furious at attempts to stamp her out…
She reminds them all…
you can’t control a wildfire for long.

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