When A Black Girl Gives Birth, and: God Kiss My Palm and Tell Me I’m Dreaming

When A Black Girl Gives Birth

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her body becomes hollow    she loses the tang from her tongueshe bathes in lavender and grows thickened skin on her feet    her thighs worshipped stardust attract the attention of cold palmsher lover pops her bubblegum lip she learns that lips are the fastesthealing body part    she fasts for three days soaks her hair in coconut oil bends pagesof the holy bookignores his love taps against her forehead her forearm her cheek herwristshe buys BB cream to cover up the bruises growing like pansies fromher throat

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her daughtermixes bleach with her bathwater and scrubs her elbows with cut uplemons    because her father taught her   ain’t no man wanna marry a field nigga    her skin blackens under sunlight   melaninatedblack was never the new black   until a white girl tried her on as acostume    she picks at perm scabs how black women pick out coffins for theirunborn sons    a flood starts running down her legs    she culls at her roots how Eve pulled the fruit    she washes her face with chloride and cries

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her lover leaves her with butterfingers    she can’t catch love taps anymore blood drips on tile floor  don’t worry baby baby i’m sorry you can still be my Black African Princess    means i’ll love you since no one else willshe bends at the nape in search for God    she listens to Lauryn Hill baptizes her son under banal prayers    she dreams of stapling her lover’s palm to cross    and burning his ear with vodkashe writes a poem Black Girl Disneyland but her mother tells her thatit doesn’t exist

God Kiss My Palm and Tell Me I’m Dreaming

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behind a church pew i brushmy knees against the carpetmy grandmother whispersthis is how you make Jesus hear youthe feeling is so familiar—mother’s nails scuffing dandruff from my scalppinching pages of maw-maw’s bibletongues rolling rain tapping window pastor’s mic crackingit’s me, oh Lord,                standing in the need of prayer

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i dream that my mother drags me by my hairto the altar where the cross of my savior awaitsmy kisses on his cold feet i spit            i arch my back to see his facethat died for me my mother crawls beside my thighshe wants me to tell my story not the one when the princess finds herlove under her bed    i mutter i mutter that angels don’t have wings        i say that blood washes away with bleach and baking soda        i spit again washing the feet of the saviormother gets a hot towel from around her neck and places it on my nape

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sun shines through beaded curtains he asks if i uncovered my flood    blood stains his bed sheet   tainted smelling of zinc    i dig my nails into burnt umber skin                red nail polish peels back—arched backwards this is how you make a man love you        thighs airbrushed in crimsonam i down with the blood he pulls at my roots and tells me breathe

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i wake with his finger pushing my nipple    a pillow separates my thigh from hisi want to tell him that i know all his sins and that    God sees everything quotes from my grandmother’s bible case    with his other hand he combs through his hair and saysbaby, i’m immune to death he starts the shower in the bathroom            he drops my silk robe into the water and tellsme            to try it on now    gods can’t die sweetheart, we’re just effects

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my man touches me whenever i barkbut heaven closes its eyes when i pray