When the Radical Lands a Desk Job (Taylor McCleery Sloey- Lafayette, LA)

Sixteen months ago-
You stopped speaking
To put your hands to work
And from this silenced tongue
have gained nothing more than lost convictions
and a shocking
lack of praise and support
Reverberating from the
the dirt embedded in the cracks of your hands
It doesn’t sing the way you used to
You used to spit dynamite from a soap box weekly
Igniting every wick that heard it
You used to write angry poetry, and paint
Wear obscene clothing just to get a rise out of old people
You used to throw rallies for Africa
Fuck- you used to care about Africa
And you used to promise yourself- that you wouldn’t be one to become a silent complacent
So darling- SPEAK
Because trees falling in the woods don’t make a sound unless you do-
open your throat and let the words free fall out of you
The way unprovoked rage used to when you were a teenager-
Like- sloppy public kissing when you’re drunk enough but old enough to know better
Like- how you used to write songs for every boy you fell for and another when he fucked you over
But before you got fucked over so many times that you ran out of melodies
Let it flow-
The way optimism used to before you knew heartbreak
Child, your eyes are blue
too young for cynicism
and these newly forming lines in your visage
Were only put there from laughter
And too much time in the sun
And you’ve loved every second of it
Right down to the scars on your feet
So sing-
No one’s waiting to turn you down

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

Search This Blog