By Walidah Imarisha
When I die
I wear nothing but the tats on my back
His body
Tapestry
memory
Masterpiece
Writing his name on the sun his skin
Roadmap of ink and flesh
Raised keloid scars
That can be read like Braille
My adopted brother
Kakamia Jahad Imarisha
I named him when I was 17
He was reborn under my breath
And you know what the elders say
If you name it,
It is yours
mouth full of broken angel wings
and arm full of India ink
poetry
Untitled
in
Still in the shadow of steel bars
Enemy Terrain
in
By Walidah Imarisha
Exposed neck
Head tilting forward
At dangerous angles
Delicate fragile brutal
Wisps of dreadlock smoke
In my face
Don’t know if I want to
Kiss it
Or
Snap it
Grab the locks
Slithering
Across flesh
And pull taut
Until the air
Stopgap
Coffee and No Cigarettes - For Sundiata
in
By Walidah Imarisha
You wake up at 5:30 in the morning
the sky sucked clean of stars .
After a burst of cold then lukewarm shower
you drag your body into clothes,
walk out of the door,
and get into a borrowed car,
try to get used to the unfamiliar buttons
and the many quirks of the 19 year old automobile.
You drive two and a half hours
singing at the top of your lungs
to the tapes (no cd player) you used to listen to in high school.
The sun begins to poke its head out.
You wake up at 5:30 in the morning
the sky sucked clean of stars .
After a burst of cold then lukewarm shower
you drag your body into clothes,
walk out of the door,
and get into a borrowed car,
try to get used to the unfamiliar buttons
and the many quirks of the 19 year old automobile.
You drive two and a half hours
singing at the top of your lungs
to the tapes (no cd player) you used to listen to in high school.
The sun begins to poke its head out.
Cassendra
in
By Walidah Imarisha
My tongue drips
cassendra’s blood
Brothas on the corner
Drink it down
Wrapped in crumpled brown paper bags
Swallow unheeded prophecies
I can smell my truth on their breath
But they turn their creased faces
To graffiti smoked walls
Emblazen their dicks
With neon colored wild styles
And chug down
This Pompeii destruction
Troy must have smelled
Like Watts
When it burned
Cursed out in the street by apollo
Cause I wouldn’t give it up
My tongue drips
cassendra’s blood
Brothas on the corner
Drink it down
Wrapped in crumpled brown paper bags
Swallow unheeded prophecies
I can smell my truth on their breath
But they turn their creased faces
To graffiti smoked walls
Emblazen their dicks
With neon colored wild styles
And chug down
This Pompeii destruction
Troy must have smelled
Like Watts
When it burned
Cursed out in the street by apollo
Cause I wouldn’t give it up
