Metonymy Press
Dear Black girls /I love the way your Black skin wraps itself around you /as if it never wants to let go /as if your colour is the richest thing it has ever known. /Dear Black girls /I love the way the kinks in your curls twirl /bouncing and free, /afros worn like crowns /with hair defying gravity /protected in locks and braids /and under wigs and weaves /because whatever you choose is up to you, Queens. / And know that this goes /for the rest of your body /and anyone who tells you different /doesn't have to live, breathe, exist, be in it, /so please let it be known /that your body is your own /and only yours, dear Black girls. /
he passed the peacocks perched on mango trees /roosting in the precinct of the temple /he entered the courtyard /removed his sandals /rinsed his feet /circled the temple three times /breathed deeply/ & finally stepped across the doorway /as the first light of the day /washed over the sculpted /eyes of a thousand & one gods /he bowed to each one of them /praying praying /praying praying /they'd protect me from the towers /of mofinn looming over my destiny/
