writer, performer, producer
The last time I looked Pain in the face, it darted it’s glance away.
Said that it remembered those eyes, my mother’s eyes, and couldn’t bare to make the same mistake twice.
Pain was rightfully ashamed for what it did to my mother.
I just wish she was still here, so I could tell her that her eyes, the ones I borrowed, will never see Pain again.
Rest in peace Nicolé Antoinette Nutt
SO…….it turns out that my February Love Poem Experiment became more private than posted, which I’m fine with. Guess I’m just waiting for the right time it unleash it all. But for now, here’s a snippet of the highlights:
Dear Beautiful Brown Thing
Who curls toes tighter than Mali hair
And resolves the scent of abandon with a single breath.
Thank you for outsmarting incessant threats to render your spine flaccid.
Commandeering the voice from between your teeth,
But yet you speak slave song
And we hear hip hop.
I willfully shackle myself to back you
without question or concern for who has the key.
The sun washed the face of the city, as it does every morning.
It scrubbed over windows and brushed the unreachable molars of skyscraper teeth
And eventually made its way to the Plymouth Rock crevices between his shoulders.
She was in his eyes, on his skin and even beneath his feet.
Waking her lover with a warm caress, best she knew how.
He complained, shuddered, hid his face.
Covered his eyes as she hung above him all day. Watching.
He was afraid. Hid in buildings, even ducked in the shade.
But when she left, just as the West began to swallow her whole, into night
He ran. Fought to watch her descent into the ocean.
And shuddered as she disappeared.
Note to my future husband #7
Let’s not apologize for being ourselves.
Because we are the selves we’ve been waiting our whole lives for.
Aren’t you glad we found each other?
Don’t take my hand if you fear the sensation of holding it
Don’t swallow my kiss out of thirst
Don’t hoard my warmth as if I’ve forgotten how to shiver
Be a glass of water
Just don’t be afraid
Fear is a thief
and it may have already stolen You from Yourself
Burned you away
Left you with a husk of questons
A singed sack of regret
I wish I could help
but no one ever built anything out of Ashes
Copyright Angelica Chéri 2013
His Spine was the mast from which I hung my sails, and we drifted away to breaths uncharted
Middle Passage ghosts wailed underneath us and troubled the waters, but we made it ashore anyhow
Slave Song hidden under his tongue, but spilled through his teeth as 16 bars…I watched him spit Gold. Records.
Huddled together under the warm of ancestral lights in the black blue overhead, we enclosed the only warmth we had-familiarity. He hid me in the ravine of scars his back wore proudly. Carved by Master, Mama, Cop and now Me.
I studied Him and learned Me.
Copyright 2013 by Angelica Chéri