FRUIT//Labor
(A Poem for May Day)
From the Upon the Body collection: Poems of/to a Black Social Epi in the Time of COVID
For my mother, brothers, father, and yours —
in solidarity.
I.
Yes, we’re open.
a country
bruised like
strawberries,
red sweetness
mixed with blood
and pesticides,
absorbed by hands
seven shades darker
than morning
yogurt —
do you taste it?
does it activate
your pleasure
centers, ease the
nausea of hunger
conditioned upon
the breaking of
another’s skin
before suns
breach horizons,
illuminating lands
poisoned to feed
mouths that choke
on tildes
like stale milk —
is that you?
Sorry, we’re closed.
II.
Yes, we’re open.
a country
bruised like
bananas,
cut and cabled,
shipped and stocked,
purchased and placed
upon counters
to ripen without
surveillance
or concern —
do you smell it?
luring fruit flies
towards faint futures
of existential relief,
a promise of two
weeks broken like
picket lines
on the backs of
our mothers and sisters,
brothers and fathers,
unpeeled, left to rot
in rooms humid
as fields where
fireflies sway
with mosquitoes —
is that you?
Sorry, we’re closed.
III.
Yes, we’re open.
a country
bruised like
peaches,
seeping golden
nectar upon hands
heavy with hunger,
a humming that
lingers like flies
upon exposed
browning flesh —
do you hear it?
primed to arrive
in time to cover
pits with lilies
and lullabies
as bodies decay
beneath a land
that promised
life brimming with
bounties of
wholeness,
free from
moving targets
and the stings
of yellow jackets —
is that you?
Sorry, we’re closed.
#MayDay
#GeneralStrike2020
#StrangeFruitHangingFromTheCovidTree
#SocialEpiInSolidarity
