“blackprint: zuihitsu”
“gorée”
I am not a slave
bloodlines
urine
feces
dark
hungry
saltwater
distance
diseased earth
what will become of me?
ocean
journey
captivity
he appeared
showed up and out
from frothy foggy streets
blood-rain and nasty
inhumane blue green brown black eyes
appeared with chains
hand body & foot shackles
homemade transport cages
to carry me
unknown darkness
to carry us
the promise
to be slaves
caves
white magic
what became of her?
chinaza dayo
“sugar”
what became of me?
he brings extra things
not just his nasty body
I never want
pasty pallid hands
hold sandy-straw colored
crochet basket handles
little bundles
in pearly cotton handkerchiefs
carrots
okra
potatoes
flour and sugar
for sweetbread
half-smile
I take the basket
walk toward the quarters
he smiles
I turn away
my half-smile fades
he is more gentle
when he comes
wednesday
at nightfall
it was the sugar in the sweetbread
half-smile
fake gratitude
his eyes and body gentle instead of rough
he thinks I will like it more
he say, you like it?
this is not the end
wild is this wind
“mane may”
the word is black
being black a contradiction
to have nothing and all things
at once
based in movement
in raped body
raped
repeatedly
raped to become mother of stolen children
stranger baby boys and girls you named
cause they said so
mane may mane may
I am not a slave
I want freedom
to bleed freely
enjoy the freshness of afterblood
our blood mixed
vein and placenta
wash her
wash together
before
they take her
my baby girl
cause she mine
and not mine
at once and always mine
bad enough
she come from him
from unclean tobacco stench
hard-sour breath on top of me
his body knocks and pounds me
he say, if I like it?
should I?
would you?
mouth ajar quiet without sound
gasp gasp softly breath No!
cloudy cinnamon eyes
mane may
mane may
mane may
freedom is what I want
to be free to nurse my baby girl
and not somebody’s other child
not some white child who suckles today
hate, rape, and kill black tomorrow
they say us is free
can exit the plantation gate
gather your shit
gather yourself up
your non-belongings
the things they said were not really yours
gather your body
your dignity
gather the children that are left
us don’t need no ink scrawled day pass
no freedom papers
black feet and legs move
like Ohio joins the Mississippi river at Cairo
girrrlll you better run fast
move! run!
take back all that field hollering
kick rocks
kick bricks girl
run the fuck off that plantation
freedom is what I imagine
what is mine is my body
even when he claimed it! took it!
my body was still mine
became wholly mine
after the first breath
when they whispered free?
we free?
mane may
freedom is the myth
we supposed to be free
no more forced exile from my fam
can eat
what the fuck I want
when the fuck I want
well maybe
work less if I want to
perhaps not true
education helps some
but us is not really free
my grandma and grandpa didn’t work
that cotton
that rice
that tobacco
hot fields in summer with no breaks
work at the break of dawn, in the fields
pop out baby, pass afterbirth, and pick cotton
they worked in people’s houses and kitchens
in factories
at the social security
at the board of ed
freedom is what I imagine
in another time & place
in the night
I listen through the floor
listen for my big-man-son
listen to hear his footsteps on wood floor
or the vibes of his TV
the hum of his AC
free to sleep cause he made it home
tonight
without police altercation
without handcuffs
without bullet hole entries and exits
through his ginger-brown skin
how free is free?
what has become of us?
