The S in “I Loves You, Porgy”

makes me think plurality. Maybe I can love you
with many selves. Or. I love all the Porgys.
Even as a colloquialism: a queering of
love as singular. English is a strange
language because I loves
and He loves are not
both grammarly. I loves you,
Porgy. Better to ask what man is not,
Porgy.
The beauty of Nina’s Porgy distorts
gravity. Don’t let him take
me. The ceiling is in
the floor. There is one name
I cannot say.
Who is

now?
Beauty, a proposal on
refuse. Disposal.
Nina’s eyes know
a fist too well. Not
well enough.
Pick one
out a
lineup.

Credit

Copyright © 2018 by Nabila Lovelace. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 6, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“There are times when I’m listening to music that I go into a trance because of the voice of the singer. Nina Simone does that to me every time. After listening to her rendition of ‘I Loves You Porgy’ upward of a hundred times I could not stop hearing the s. I could not hear love without hearing the plural.”
—Nabila Lovelace