Find and share the perfect poems.
the blk(est) night
be a blk girl
she think
her hair
too good
& her waist
too small
& her fit
too cute
& her jeans
too flyy
& her mama ain't nothing
like her
& the bitches
on the corner
ain't nothing like her
& can't nobody sweat her style
but jesus
Copyright © 2015 by Mahogany Browne. From Smudge (Button Poetry, 2015). Used with permission of the author.
The Slave Castle in Elmina isn’t as beautiful as her name suggests
I enter the clay arms of Gorée Island’s ancient grounds
and let this be the last thought that steals my attention
The red fortress still leans against the volcanic rocks
as stunning as any glossy travel magazine cover
it’s hard to distinguish eloquent architecture from its destructive design
i breathe them in each night
a shallow breath of scaly skin
i breathe deep & think
of the shrimp’s crooked smile
i breathe deeper & am thankful
for the lobster’s claw
i know this is a type of love
and dream for their flesh to never know harm nor hurt
static turns the TV screen into a grey overcast of noise/& the
stars know this kind of swoon/ how the tension of a tongue don’t
mean much/to a black sky//when i hold his hand to my chest/
i think/ he believes — i am the sky// so i say: i am the sky &
everything around me is smoke stained // the subway train is