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 crownswith hair defying gravity /protected in locks and braidsand under wigs and weavesbecause whatever you choose is up to you, Queens. / And know that this goesfor the rest of your body /and anyone who tells you differentdoesn't have to live, breathe, exist, be in it, /so please let it be knownthat your body is your ownand 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/