Shakeema Smalls
woman
when i am alive
the whole, wide
world becomes
unchanging hand
my prayers are
for dusk
crypto-metaphors for
wondering if god
is afraid of the height
every time i went
downbeat, i swore
it made sense
to let my tongue
rest, for what my body
did not do.
i prayed
in the temple in the valley in
the post-genetic crisis i
was cool water in the valley in the
shadows and could not find god,
above all, in the valley.
tended to my own. in the
street, i was a woman
among the gutted. i was
tired of hearing y’all pray
to anyone but me, a woman
in the valley.
all there. wasn’t I?
every song i taught my body
a worship somehow body
does not forget worship
in the valley.
but i tire of them
talking about shadows when
my body
is a valley.
*
couldn’t find a love song
on the downbeat until
finally,
i heard them praying
about me. a rage-god
an undelightful memory
holy and unrepentant.
suddenly i dreamt of wars
and bloody flags
and pigeon-toed god
walking through the valley
hassling their words,
tongue muting every vowel
and hallowing my name.
oh, woman.
what a Good God.
Alt-History
-a list of paradoxes.
We, the invaded
memory-currency
for men with need for country.
We, the women of background noise
And rectified class (alliances)
heavy-tongued Fante girls,
we all act funny and divine.
As history, as mythology
as corporeality, as coming-
up, fighting. Stone pits
between our bare teeth,
like mad women——
Riot laugh. Gutta song.
Unborn sons and daughters
Of 2nd Dynasty baby mamas
We, Of The Hard-To-Kill
backwoods lungs
& pedal pushers
the griots of warm thighs &
cool benches in summer
syrup-laden petitions
& gully wata
will not suffer amnesia.
Shakeema Smalls: "I am from Georgetown, South Carolina by way of Brooklyn, New York. My work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and I have been published in a variety of outlets including Blackberry: A Magazine, Tidal Basin Review, The Fem, The Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Radius Lit, Free Black Space, Vinyl Poetry & Prose, and Sugared Water 005, among others."
