Round for the Road Dr. L. Teresa Church Talon-words claw flesh, flail against windows rolled tight. Their ‘chine chortles beneath red light. Temper refuses pause. More than twice her size, petite brown fire ball blazes his back. He knuckles wheel, glances over shoulder into back seat now and then. Middle of the afternoon, summer day, no breeze, wire-thin woman stirs. He tries to ig’ her come undone, until she whips her right foot bare, shoe-leathers his scalp, whaps, slaps. He dips, dodges her limber hand. Light turns green, they go left, I follow the fight west on Highway 55. I trail this everyday affair, watch her climb over seat. The rusty blue car accelerates. Suddenly, without signal, they cut down a dirt road, arms no longer flailing. Derrick Brown Paul D’s Haiku From The Sweet Home Men Series (For Toni Morrison) I always loved trees Long thick limbs swaying brown boughs Sethe be my Oak. | Glow Chanell Harris The intrigue of witnessing someone attempt to kill captures even the most rational of people. 79th and Stony Island July 4, 2005 9:45p.m. I was fascinated to see them fight on the sidewalk almost in front of Leon’s I guess barbecues and firecrackers didn’t suite them They wrestled in a concrete match one struggling to overpower the other cotton, blue jean brown skin formed a ball scrawling for possession of pointed steel As they scuffled in a entranceway of a storefront they forced themselves to their feet Just as we turned down 78th street I saw them get loose of one another and start to throw punches I caught a glimpse of each get in one good lick 10:00 p.m. sirens of police cars a fire truck and ambulance glow the streets somebody’s dead back at the corner under neon light that illuminates nine corners we watched life twitch and bleed before us one, once a predator lay face down in the jungle prey leaking from the back rescue lights glow the phosphorous in the blood on the pavement bounce off the yellow police tape created a ghetto sanctuary closed eyes see and invisible God I say a prayer too Pink shirts they both wore now tainted with organic spills that never come clean There is nothing gorgeous about these ladies |
Cante Jondo
Ashaki Jackson
There is only evening, here. The heavy eyes of children who
dread the dark. The tartness and senility of wine.
Men retreat into safe places – behind women's knees,
upon the smooth pomegranate abdomens,
beneath the many napes. Here is a slow walk, a siguirilla
into the night. Men who dream of flying fall deftly from trees
with sobering cadence. At dusk, women collect the fallen figs,
smell their heft, press thumbs into the scrotums.
I am from
Marta Maria Miranda
I am from a place where chickens wake you up and feed you breakfast
I am from where pigs are slaughtered with skill and grace and every inch is used for something
I am from water gazing, despojos and spirit calling
I am from Bembes where our african ancestors wet their tongues
with rum, speak the old words, and dance to the beat
of the conga drums
I am from punto guajiro, guantanamera and story telling circles
I am from the vile of my mother’s hatred of her wifely duties
I am from a toxic womb where my twin sister died and I survived
I am from kneeling on pebbles, staring at the bathroom
wall and dreaming that I could fly
I am from the love of dulce leche, flan and rice pudding for breakfast
I am from a daily feast of black beans, white rice, aguacates and mojito
I am from coffee beans growing outside my kitchen window
I am from a red tile kitchen where abuelita rolled her choquitos
and starched the bed sheets
I am from the ever present Pepito jokes,
I am from a place where papaya, guayabas and mango trees gently carry orchids on their trunks
I am from the mountains and in them I will be buried
I am Cubalachian, Cuban by Birth
and Appalachian by the Grace of God
I am from the ocean and to her I will return
I am the daughter of Yemaya and for her I will write
As I Burn Sage Trees
Jurina Hill
God what happens tomorrow? As I burn sage trees
Sick inside as the sage scent burns inside of me
Scared to breathe, scared to BE
'Leave me alone,' I cry, but her spirit tackles me
I picked a strange spirit that doesn't want to leave me
God what happens tomorrow? As I burn sage trees
'Leave me alone,' I cry, but her Spirit tackles me
Scared to breathe, scared to BE
Her strange spirit rather I live a lie
Here it comes again to tackle me
Scared to breathe, scared to BE
No one there, no one here to protect me
Afraid to BE, afraid to BE
God what happens tomorrow? As I burn sage trees
Sage trees protect me I beg of thee
Scared to breathe, scared to BE, as I cling to sage trees
God protect me as I cling to sage trees
LET ME BREATHE LET ME BE give me tomorrow in thee
I've learnt the hard way from Strange Spirit
PLEASE GOD PROTECT ME—Bless me with the power of sage trees
Please God let me breathe—Please God let me BE
As I burn sage trees
