by Roya Marsh
Flex, then!
Oh, you think I’m scared?
Nigga I crossed the grand concourse without the light
I still love Kanye
I still got white friends
I’ve been to hell
Trapped inside my own mouth
a scorching of things I was afraid to say aloud
You think calling
me an abomination makes me forget you still wanna fuck me?
silence a truth, erase a fault.
do you hear church bell sirens?
ordain me
a wannabe
man hater
man herself
Name me anything but beautiful.
first you pray I’ll call
then you’ll call me prey
Today, I renounce my god
Like Peter
Like Judas
Like Longinus
I renounce my Black
Like OJ
Like Tiger
Like Raven
Today I’m just a vessel
that eats pussy
Even then, someone wants me dead
in the name of the father
who reigns when he pleases
& here I go with the audacity to keep on living
I’m into going against the grain
Lord knows I want you to stay
Pray a roof over your head
Pray every Dylann Roof away from NYCHA
that your brother remains your keeper
Wish your flesh be armor
I’ll be miscreant
Evildoer
the darkness
and still be the baddest bitch in the plaza
in broad dayliGht black queer femmes look gala
issa celebration
lace front flyin’
locs whippin’
that bass beating down to the city of yo’ sole
ain’t no nerve in yo’ body sleep
issa ball
have a ball
you the honoree
you made it!
at least tonight
the bullshit gon’ have try again another day
cuz you here.
in broad dayliGht black stars look like gyrochronology
astronomers can decipher the age of a star by their spin rate
the scientific term for this is gyrochronology
Gyros meaning rotation
Chronos meaning age
Logos meaning study
A study of age through rotation
my first tattoo was a star
a branding of sorts
something to tell my body apart from the others
My flesh akin to ruin
akin to loss
the study of age through rotation
a preteen
a toy
a gun
a boy
a bullet
a barrel
a trigger
a finger
a cell
a trash bag
a backyard
a playground
a car
my resolve
every nigga is a star
meant for shooting
not for target.
q. how do you tell the age of a dead body?
a. you check for blackness. if no blackness the body will still be breathing.
b. you pluck a star from its mouth.
c. the more massive the star, the faster it burns up its fuel supply, and the shorter its life.
d. the most massive stars can burn out before they finish high school.
corpses in crosswalks
rising to the hudson surface
swinging from trees
you can’t metaphor modern-day lynchings
when there are actually modern-day lynchings
bodies buried beneath me whisper run
to my ankles between cackles
I am always weeping
my love asks why i cry at night.
Like the stars,
my tears are most visible in the dark.
in broad dayliGht black dykes look grilled
my feminism is visible
big breasted
smart mouthed
often discounted
& ignored
always wearing shades or throwing it
got bottom grillz
two master’s degrees
is Teyana Taylor in that Kanye video
dressed like Queen Latifah in Set It Off
ain’t woman enough for the straight ones
ain’t man enough for the gay ones
sags sometimes when I don’t wear a belt
shops in men’s departments.
hard
but ain’t bullet proof
is proof of the bullet
my feminism is Jesus
the real one
the black one
with locs
on the cross
no the ankh
crucified
broken free
cupping the world on its bare shoulders
can carry a baby
but ain’t too sure about pushing it out
my feminism is mother
is a motherfucker
wish a motherfucker would
might smile at you but not for you
will grab trump by his pussy
even though he’s all asshole
gets catcalled
and called dog
by women who hate how masculine my feminism is
it don’t make women loyal
don’t make them stable
or stay
gets cheated on
& called too feminine
for having feelings about it
my feminism is exhausted
of your expectations
& being judged
& being denied
& explaining its own femininity
in broad dayliGht black abuse victims look gone
from the one who left
Used to say I been beaten
but I’m still here
fight ain’t over
I never died
The trauma did
“No one is to approach any close relative to have sexual relations.” Leviticus 18:6
he said it was a nightmare
he said it was a nervous tic
he said it was a game
he never said I couldn’t tell
I think, that’s why I didn’t
something in me knew
this was not
good news
worth sharing
so i swallowed it & him
Used to say I been beaten
but I’m still here
fight ain’t over
I never died
The trauma did
but was born again
of another man’s mouth
“Do not envy a violent man or choose any of his ways.” Proverbs 3:31
he said you are
your mother’s
daughter
but you are my mistake
said if you didn’t turn around
the shoe would have hit your head
not split your lip
said if you ever tell a soul
you will need more than a few stitches
so i tucked this deep
Used to say I been beaten
but I’m still here
fight ain’t over
I never died
The trauma did
but was born again of
another woman’s fist
“Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord.” Romans 12:19
she said i asked for it
she said i made her
she said it wouldn’t be abuse
if I would just fight back
said the bruises would fade
but the love would
grow stronger
she said i just happen to be around
at her worst times
she said playing the victim only makes her hit harder
she said no one in love
should have to beg for sex
she said this isn’t kidnapping
I just gotta get through her if I wanna leave
so i stayed
I used to say I been beaten
but I’m still here
therapist on speed dial
41 empty pill bottles later
sleepless nights turned morning
countless exhales
trauma will never have
as many revivals
as triumph
“The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me, because the LORD has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.” Isaiah 61:1
Victory is the moment I looked my father in the eye and didn’t swing
Victory is the moment I looked my ex in the eye and didn’t jump
Victory is the moment I looked my molester in the eye
and didn’t shoot
Victory is the moment I look myself in the eye
& lived
& loved
blessed are the wicked
for they shall inherit
the courage to love
bloodlessly
Blessed are the captive
for they shall inherit
the courage to escape
still breathing
i
walked free
a chance to live again
the difference between death
& survival
how you can dance
at your own grave site
the beaten are where they always were
trying to fight/fuck their rage out of the good around them
they keep checking the tomb for my remains
& each time I am gone
There’s a decade of resurrection Sundays
buried underneath my tongue
i am the good news
consider me the burning bush
you damn right I’m on fire
I’ve been carrying the sun on my spine
intending to light the way
for the ones who stayed
in broad dayliGht black thrivers look growth
or, well-wishes from the other side
May you learn forgiveness is the whisper in a seashell
awaiting your ear
you have bloomed backwards many a season
still expected to be vase ready
you prickly and painful
May you know there are hands crafted to carry bouquets of you
You burst of blooming burst of Blackness
May you know light spills like blud and both will lead you somewhere
someone will need your goodness for pollination
someone will feed on you
May you be enough to nourish
and still be good enough to you
every tree falls when it’s ready to live differently
I am worth more than a metaphor for trauma
painted in florals and fruit, but gardens are beautiful
and I’ve seen some survive the brutal of winter.
The thing is,
I’m healing.
in broad dayliGht black moms look swollen gland
or, Langston Hughes tells you of your mother’s cancer 2 months before her 65th birthday
Sensing death,
The buzzards gather
—LANGSTON HUGHES, “DYING BEAST”
when quality health is in vogue
& the last bite of the ghetto is devoured
on the purple checkout line
at the trader joe’s that replaced the homeless shelter
where they always got a story about someone they used to know
where if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language
you learn sometimes a body is just too fine.
there was a buyout & most folks copped out
but not yo’ mama.
worked ’til the shelter turned to rubble.
rubble turn to rinky-dink restaurant.
that’s what cancer does, gentrifies.
wraps up a body.
juice it ’til crust & bald.
you busy wondering what the blues will bring
cuz you was always planning to die
first—
& now she got cells growing uncontrollably
that won’t die
& ain’t no hope in hopin’ she make it through
& who all gon’ care for you when she gone
home?
when the rent due
ya shorty wildin’
ya calories addin’ up
& you six weeks into the dollar menu
and the doctor say diabetes got a borderline
& you seekin’ asylum in a food desert.
you remember you don’t visit cemeteries
so when it’s time for you to say goodbye
you better say it well
you better say it loud
you remember
that poison is gentrifying your mother’s body
if you tryna snuggle up in yours you can’t leave room
for vacancies or intruders
you remember the hood as an undying beast
while the vultures surround
malignant mall & matinee w/ mimosas
and just like they did your hood
they start taking shit out of her body
they start putting shit into her body
radioactive chips that prevent her from speaking
for the meantime, they say.
for the better, they say.
the cancer is gone, for now.
she is home, for now.
a stomach demolished.
a thyroid removed.
a death deferred.
& you still ain’t made plans.
you gotta remember, now
the clock is ticking
ain’t no coming back from living, again.
in broad dayliGht black lovers look guest
I think love is a hotel room
everything used
but new
I arrive with arms full of gifts
The most precious wrapped
inside of my chest
the lampshades bow and the tv won’t even look at me
I am never more useless
than in the arms of a woman
who will check out
before i even know the sun has risen
I keep falling for the same women
dying or dead
with hearts on
do not deserve
I know I am no god
I know nothing of forgiveness
I carry such a sadness
for all the sorries I’ve never received
to know I cannot hold you close
to know I cannot forgive
is to know you are no longer with me
there are no crossroads
no latent reunion
You had no desire to be a lover
we, a casualty of human nature
sometimes love is letting you die
do not disturb
There must be a way to remind myself
this bed
is not a casket
oh, lucky you
who gets to be spirit
I’m forced to remain human
But we are both daughters
to someone
//a glimpse//
of everything that is good
and just
and right
We right
& write
until the world knows of this unspeakable tenderness & our undeserving need
to be known as legacies
as daughters
of daughters
who may beget daughters
My pastor once told me,
in prayer
I have to use the only words that work
today it’s fuck
today it’s die
tomorrow it may be live or love or or or
either way you will not respond
I am learning my posture of worship is my head thrown back
two middle fingers in the air
screaming fuck the unworthy
There are things that I’ve said that did not sound godly
there are places I have been that look nothing like heaven
I have been begging a deafened lord to write messages over your heart
but your funeral is not my burden
love is no religion
this is no church
it’s just this hotel room
where—like me,
everything is used
but seemingly new
we are significant and other
the door is calling
& it’s time
to check out
What are the conditions of your freedom?
acknowledgments
Wooo! If it wasn’t for the Bronx, this Black girl prolly never would be writin’ poems. Shout out to where I’m from. Uptown Baby, Uptown Baby!
Sincere gratitude to Danny Vazquez and the entire team at MCD / Farrar, Straus and Giroux for believing, and for pushing and fighting for this project to see the light of day.
The women in my family are Gz. All of my love and thanks to Grandma Geraldine, whose words I grew up on & continue to live by. You were the wisest and most stubborn woman the world had to offer.
Ma & Aunty, y’all set the bar high for the woman I always knew I needed to be. Each of you made it possible for me to exist, and there aren’t enough words in all the poems in all the world to amass the supernatural powers each of you possess.
To my father, for everything that you are and for all of the things that you are not.
To my siblings: Thank you for lending me your lives. I am the greatest parts of each of you. I learned how powerful I am by watching you all survive.
Incredible thanks to the next gen & the reasons I grind the hardest: Domo, Larry, Shonyay, Miana, Sierra, Ihsiah, Chancy V., Joseph, Sharissa, Malcolm, Prynce, Autumn, Amazeyn, Bricyn, Alexander, Ariceli, Amari.
Mad love to my Uncle Lyle & the Walford family & the Moody family & the Claffee families & the White family & the Millender family for sitting on the floors of venues way back when every poem rhymed, for coming to the plays & the documentaries, for buying the books, and for every moment you checked for me.
The fiercest: Mahogany L. Browne, you’ve been an anchor and armor since the moment we connected. Seester, for picking me up off of the floor (literally), every time. Jive Poetic, you’ve given me more than enough encouragement to believe in myself.2 Whitney Greenaway for reading every version of this manuscript and learning every version of me.
