POC: Poets of color
My ancestors say
I smell of Brown sugar and honey
They say my eyes sparkle
and my hair curls
Like the mystical patterns
The rings of Saturn
Circle around my hips
To remind me that I
Have the power to gift another
And so my ancestors cry
When I doubt the extent
Of my strength
They scream, when I forget
To worship the only home
the body I live in
They say to stop sexualizing
My tiger stripes
And start loving
My belly rolls
I look at myself and see
A perfect blend of imperfections
And so I beg my ancestors to
Let me taste
The sweet irony
That drips from their insecurities
In hopes that I may one day
Learn, to love my own
Our assumptions leading to accusations will be our downfall
The blind leading the blind
Wading in the waters of our truths
And leaving us drenched in the answers we never wanted
From the questions we never asked
For how long will they weigh on the heart and linger in the mind
Until we are broken
And there’s nothing left to find
Egg Cream/ New Normal
Healer affirms I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Spirit & community got me.
Three summers at an ice cream shop, I made two egg creams. One during training- it found the drain. Brash boston accent ordered a chocolate one. Seltzer, syrup, milk. Manager told me it’s a Great Depression vestige. Who’d choose this over real rich ice cream. We have a deep need for richness, sweetness especially when everything is falling apart.
I find myself with roommate discussing shortages: using three squares or less of toilet paper per trip.
I find myself offered 90 day refills, teletherapy, newly livestreamed events. I didn’t have to ask.
I find myself full off smelling roommate’s clever use of overripe banana, a lone cup of apple sauce, pantry oats ground, dry roasted nuts: a vegan, gluten free recipe worth repeating.
I find myself before the man I can’t touch yet and he finally becomes my boyfriend. Through a screen, we shower one another with words and quality time.
I find myself remembering our fingers intertwined between us in his car. Queer internet adolescence prepared me for love when touch is dangerous and impossible.
I find myself in a new home during a pandemic, in a new normal. If I make it, I embrace this. Never thought I would understand the urgency of an egg cream until I adapted my idea of what makes a treat sweet.
I affirm I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, and thank everything I’m anything but alone.
My entire existence
It is a spirit
That I can
Rid myself of
It has possessed
They self medicate
I choose the