^{after “The Color Purple”}

For the way Shug leans in for the kiss 
after listening to Miss Celie’s long suffering. 
For what begins as Shug’s prompting Miss Celie 
to Shake yo’ shimmy girl! Show me yo stuff! 
Miss Celie’s smile hidden behind two balled 
and stoney fists that Shug holds down against a sea 
of red sequin, then the spread of Miss Celie’s teeth 
like the good earth opening into a field of Cosmos wild
and wide before the eye as laughter cascades from her mouth 
like a fit of trumpet and trombones sounding on any 
God-given night outta Harpo’s.

It was as lawless then as it is now, 
two Black women finding the lover 
in one another, having endured the force 
ful nature of men and separation from all 
they loved, including their own children. 
Black women finding exception in one another. 
It was the grace in Shug’s caress that held my 
prepubescent breath, followed by Miss Celie turning 
her cheek for another peck. Their language of touch that 
left my body ringing then, what leaves me wrung out still. 
No longer a child, but grown and experienced 
in my own lone episodes of longing— 
I knows what it like 
when your body want to sing 
but can’t— 
to have a little help along the way 
to have someone like honey 
to be two bodies buzzing like bees.