And the just man trailed God’s shining agent,
over a black mountain, in his giant track,
while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:
“It’s not too late, you can still look back

at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed,
at the empty windows set in the tall house
where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed.”

A single glance: a sudden dart of pain
stitching her eyes before she made a sound . . .
Her body flaked into transparent salt,
and her swift legs rooted to the ground.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem
too insignificant for our concern?
Yet in my heart I never will deny her,
who suffered death because she chose to turn.

Yallah habibti, move your tongue like the sea

easy. My big sister teaches me to ululate, rolls

her tongue in waves. Dips thin fingers inside

my mouth to pull out mine, stretches it long

and pinches the tip. Watch, we move tongues

like this. I see the walls of our father’s house

collapse and we swim free leleleleleleleleleee

On the ferry to Tangier I shriek across the sea.

Practice how to sound like a real woman. Old

aunties grab my buttocks, smush their breasts

against my back and sing leleleleleleleleleleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Don’t cover your mouth habibti! Only women

on the upper deck, only sea. We move tongues

like this to tell the waves stay back, tell men

stay back, tell the dead stay gone, tell runaway

wives stay gone. They turn me into wisteria

woman, limbs wrapped around poles and thighs

as they guide me. Throw back your head, epiglottis

to the breeze. Salt air burns my hot membranes,

scratches at the tight knots of my chords.

All my life I was told

women must swallow sand 

unless we are sounding

a warning.

Her temple smeared across my walls,

I bowed beneath her stream.

Two arcs of piss & bloody vomit

shot inside the MRI machine.

The half-moon rolled back and she

emerged beneath me. My: too much

brown, too much blush, too many

lashes to heal, rattled loose in a split

mouth like crack rocks. She spewed

a bloody history: my people, her father,

some agony at the West Midlands Area

Conservative Society. When she groaned

Ain’t No Black In The Union Jack,

I tempered the pain—oxycodone

for one, high grade the other, ditched

my beeper in her cradle. Switched scrubs

for straps & animal skins in the back seat

of an Audi TT. I saged my hair with a blunt.

Danced away her ruin beneath a black

girl’s melody.

This is not a small voice
you hear               this is a large
voice coming out of these cities.
This is the voice of LaTanya.
Kadesha. Shaniqua. This
is the voice of Antoine.
Darryl. Shaquille.
Running over waters
navigating the hallways
of our schools spilling out
on the corners of our cities and
no epitaphs spill out of their river mouths.

This is not a small love
you hear               this is a large
love, a passion for kissing learning
on its face.
This is a love that crowns the feet with hands
that nourishes, conceives, feels the water sails
mends the children,
folds them inside our history where they
toast more than the flesh
where they suck the bones of the alphabet
and spit out closed vowels.
This is a love colored with iron and lace.
This is a love initialed Black Genius.

This is not a small voice
you hear.

I’m Nobody! Who are you?

Are you – Nobody – too?

Then there’s a pair of us!

Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!

How public – like a Frog –

To tell one’s name – the livelong June –

To an admiring Bog!

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more—that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut—my eyes are blue—
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke—
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is—what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Bow down my soul in worship very low

And in the holy silences be lost. 

Bow down before the marble man of woe, 

Bow down before the singing angel host. 



What jewelled glory fills my spirit's eye! 

What golden grandeur moves the depths of me! 

The soaring arches lift me up on high

Taking my breath with their rare symmetry. 



Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light

Of Beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne

Bow down before the wonder of man's might. 

Bow down in worship, humble and alone; 

Bow lowly down before the sacred sight 

Of man's divinity alive in stone. 

I gaze into her eyes—their tender light,
And strong, illumes my spirit's darkest night,
And pours rich glory on me as a star
Which brings its silver luster from afar.

Sweet thoughts and beautiful within me burn,
And heaven I see what way soe’er I turn;
In borrowed radiance of her soulful glance
All things grow tenfold lovely and entrance.

I touch her willing hand—as gentle dove
It rests within my own, in trusting love;
And yet it moves me with a power so deep,
My heart is flame, and all my pulses leap.

I breathe her name unto the flowers: they bloom
With rarer hues, and shed more rich perfume!
The skylark hears it, as he floats along,
And adds new sweetness to his morning song.

Oh magic name! deep graven on my heart,
And, as its owner, of myself a part!
It hath in all my daily thoughts a share,
And forms the burden of my nightly prayer!