In Solidarity's Spring 2011 Issue

Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde Your Silence Will Not Protect You - Audre Lorde

In Solidarity

Spring 2011

Table of Contents Poems/Short Stories Ser guerillera - Nicole Nfonoyim Letter from Them up There - Reivin Alexandria Johnson Black Like... - Kyla L. Moore Lawrence and Albany - Truc Linh Nguyen Drained - Andre Patton Harmattan Photos, Wind Cracked -Chewube Arinze MirrorSpeak - Nicole Nfonoyim Pangaea - Thalia Harris The Udu Drum - Claudette Davis Sleep Now - Caitlin O’Neill Old and New Ghost - Chekwube Arinze Father - Truc Linh Nguyen Road into the Storm on Fire - Reivin Alexandria Johnson Untitled - Anonymous Unspoken - Chiemela Ubagharaji To My Husband, yet to be found - Claudette Davis Shhh... - Maya Iverson

Table of Contents Insecticide - Magalee Cirpili Night colored girls - Claudette Davis Kindreds - Claudette Davis In the Vault - Reivin Alexandria Johnson Atlas (was a black woman) - Caitlin O’Neill

Photos Cover - Maya Iverson and Chiemela Ubagharaji Untitled - Truc Linh Nguyen Grandmother’s Quilt - Truc Linh Nguyen Intersectionality - Truc Linh Nguyen Untitled - Truc Linh Nguyen All Lined Up - Truc Linh Nguyen Untitled - Asha Hannah Love, Shelter, Food - Claire Stepherson Untitled - Kathleen Wright

Editors Graduating Seniors Kathleen Wright Amber Walker Gaila Sims Current Melissa Elie Maya Iverson Future Ashley Augustin Eli Diop Erik Martinez Anthony Cook Olivia Rosenberg Special Thanks To Staff Writer Reivin Johnson Chiemela Ubagharaji

“Mirrored walls, mirrored faces, mirrored speech, and yet do you still not see for whom I speak?�

Nicole Nfonoyim p. 14

Ser guerrillera Nicole Nfonoyim

Papa, cuando ‘stoy grande Voy a ser guerrillera Quitarme esa manta blanca (Te recuerdas?) esa que me compraste Y cambiarla por una clara desnudez

Pa’ volarme fuera de esta bonita jaula de gris.

Que me incienda el ardor verde de la guerra Ya que veran estos ojos mis suenos deramadas, azules, en las manos de mi gente Papa, al fin, no llores si por dentro ven que me sale orgullosa—sangre negra.

Negra y Roja en las mismas venas.

Letter From Up There Reivin Alexandria Johnson

Guh, Let me tell yuh, there ain’t enough room in the closet for us transpangenderfreaks and notso-fatso-queerdeviants to stretch out ah legs without touching on another! But there is enough space to fit comfortably because it’s walk-in size. When we crowd in dark spaces together it’s hard to feel bright and yellow, sometimes, especially when the skies in your eyes are gray. Grey and Yellow together make beige they say, like they say you beige. I hear you a dyke nah, too! Dat’s fine wit me but fah real? What’s dis about bein, gay! Ders always more room in the dark when the world is your wardrobe and you’re it’s own little mutt lunar night-light. A battery powered flash is sometimes mistook for a beacon, but don’t worreh. We’ll listen as long as we can hear you, chile, cause it’s been a long time since you said your name right aouht loud when no one was around to call it, yeah? Have you ever done a ringshout ? Nevermind. Fah git what I said, and think this, instead. Did you catch on that there are no actual closet doors or walls ta keep ya from getting out or bein in? The wisdom, our echoes, are beige like cowrie shells all along the wobbly wooden frame. If ya blue then stop ya boodayin.

Spend the day in. Figure the shit out on paper, Pumkin. ‘Sides you need to know that the spirit of your words is not contained. There are no shut doors in our world, the universe, cause nothing is improbable. I don care what dose wretched phantoms said about those chains and why they was on our feet. We clever, yeah! We can pick locks!

Its possible that our rusty keys just get jammed sometimes from all the rain. As for the pain, well, it comes and it stays until you uncap the pen again…and when the feelins gone, so goes the thrill. Don’t be mad at those who ain’t as free and wild as you. Bear with your sisters and brothers cause their time will come, too………soon…… Have hope for Us and wait patiently and stay alive, mah, bébé? Rainbows still matter, Mé Sha…you have so much to offer the livin’…

Sincerely with love, YourAunti Audre and all her, oh lord, poet friends.

P.S. When you close your mouth you are as silent as when you put the cap back on the pen. When your tongue is stolen, you cannot read or write unless you take the cap off again. You speak in words, in gestures, in struts and in moans, but no one can hear your voice on unrecorded thought alone.

So type all of the hate and save it into a document and email it in a poetic essay to the

world! If you haven’t a keyboard or pencil, scratch it onto a napkin with your weary nails. Use the blood from in your womb to stain the white cotton your Great Cosmic Godmothers planted if you have to. What’s keeping you stuck inside? Write a message that says what’s the matter with you so that you can begin to end the struggle! And whatever you do, guh, don’t let no man make a pornography out of your sensuality. Ask someone up der in the sky for guidance, and find your path from the underground!! Your eyes are the lens to your soul, so keep em closed when ya pray so the spirit don’t escape.

Black Like...

Kyla L. Moore

Black like…

The only little girl at SpeechMeet saying, Harriet Tubman didn’t take no stuff And wadn’t scared of nothing either, Didn’t come in this world to be no slave And didn’t stay one either Black like…

Answering Mary Mcleod Bethune, when the question was clearly about Eleanor Roosevelt Black Like…

Easter Sunday is not about bunnies and eggs, Easter Sunday is Resurrection Day, Black like… not eating til 3 pm when everyone can come over Black like…

Wearing full slips underneath play dresses Black like…

Blue Magic four poster braids, and a scalp full of African Pride, herbal infusion Black like…

Tramaine Hawkins on Sunday Mornings singing – The Potter want’s to put you back together again

Black like…

Go outside so your skin can get brown Black Like…

Don’t be letting that screen door slam!

If you come in, you in – If you go out, you out!

Black like…

Twin freeze pops on Saturday morning, Black like…

Go make friends and don’t come back until 3 pm Black like…

Can Aquila come out and play?!

Black like…

Zing, Zing, Zing like a washing machine Black like…

Mama in the kitchen stirring that rice Daddy on the corner shootin that dice, Brother in jail, ringing that bell, Sister in the corner singing Fruit – Cock – Tail Black like… (smack) Don’t you see to grown people talking Black like…

Yes ma’am, but can I have some money for the ice cream truck Black like…

But mama, please, it’s the ice cream truck Black like...

Go ask ya Daddy then Black like...

Daddy, Mama said it was okay Black like…

Why you talk funny?

Black like…

Why you going to have to work at McDonald’s?

Black like…

But Kristen’s Mom let’s her do it Black like…

My momma don’t let me do that Black like…

Ohh, you light complected…

Black like…

Kyla, Complected is not a word, complexion is Black like…

But Fats and Victoria are on the corner after 7 pm Black like…

Brining blankets to all night prayer Black like…

Waiting to Exhale, Love Jones, and Living Single all happening in one room Black like…

Ain’t nothing open past 12 am but legs Black like…

Losing Isaiah as a morality play Black like…

Five Heartbeats, The Temptations and Cool Runnings Black like…

LEON!!!

Black like….

Reading Rainbow is Kunta Kente?

Black Like…

My name is JoAnn, my favorite color is fluorescent beige Black like…

Me. I will not define Black culture.

I am Black culture.

Lawrence and Albany Truc Linh Nguyen

There was a shooting, I ran home so fast Into the neighborhood, it felt good to shoot back I sprinted by the streetlamp, peeled around the corner I hid underneath the market’s fresh fruit sign, summertime.

Drained

Andre Patton I’m tired, not because of sleep deprivation But from frustration and trying so hard I’m tired of pretending to be the goody-to-shoes as if I was sprung straight out of Pleasantville Living up to others expectations and bending to everyone’s will I’m tired of being tired and I’m exhausted from being tired of being tired This job of mine called Life is agitating, its about time I retire But not in that way in which people would expect Because I plan to have many more days before i meet up with death Matter of fact I think I’ll just quit Quit telling myself that it’s going to be ok Maybe it was just the wrong interpretation and He’ll accept me this way Ha-ha what a joke Just more words that I have to choke down Continuing to feel my bright sunny smile slip into a gloom filled frown I’m tired of feeling like everyday I gain more reasons to love myself Only to repeatedly be reminded by one reason that I shouldn’t Three little letters in caps formation: N.I.S Three little letters that give me such distress Three little letters that I can’t escape I am Sin. That’s just a part of my traits I’m done trying to find loopholes in Your book full of wisdom I’m tired of trying to prove to my family that who I am is ok and that I can be a part of Your kingdom It drains me.

My willpower is almost sucked dry By remaining silent like a spy listening in on those who say fag so naturally as if they were drinking water

I’m tired.

Tired of being uplifted by Your words and shattered by them simultaneously Continually reminding me how I don’t fit the image in which You want everyone to be I’m drained.

Drained from listening to my grandmothers use such derogatory words From hearing the disgust in their voice All the while saying whatever they want not knowing my sexual choice I’m tired and drained from hearing them speak Your words Drained from hearing about how people like me will be destroyed Tired of being annoyed when my mother can’t say what she really wants to say to me about my sexuality Drained from reading scriptures in Matthew about “Loving thy neighbor” when i feel. see, and hear so much hate for anyone who is different Tired from being disconnected from YOU Drained from always trying to fit myself to Your mold But I give up I throw the towel in I fold I’m going to stop trying to win Because Your words, my family, and my brothas and sistas have drained me.

I’m tired of being connected yet disconnected from You continuously But this, I suppose is what my fate is to be Loving and hating myself repeatedly But I am tired of that also Much further I am not able to go I do have this last thing to say though As drained as I am I ask you one more thing for my quest to be happy My most kind Heavenly Father, Why do you dislike homosexuality?

Or better yet, ME.

Harmatton Photos, Wind Cracked Chekwube Arinze

seated, 3 by 3 by 3 by 3 all the heads covered all the women the last sallah of the day clumped in their throats one woman’s lips purple as tulips one hand in the palm of the other gold chains and a missing earring no one smiles in this moment my grandmother’s face blurred sepia is a fuzzy prequel of my mother and there is a baby in her lap who is not me listen, I have learned to speak in the withered code of your old freedom measuring time value worthiness in the brevity of a greeting and in the winded dunes of your mouth in the color of midnight there is a timbre of voice that comes from not being heard and the language of a past and future solstice separate and staccato keep these patterns intact imagine if you met me now same eyes same hands our silences resonating in different seasons italicized portion is from Audre Lorde’s “Echoes”

MirrorSpeak

Nicole Nfonoyim For whom do you speak? Where does their story end and yours begin?

Tongue tied to the cold mirrored walls that close in on me Heavy these words--peppered metallic Mouths full of gilded bullets Gag, gag or choke. gag or choke. gag or choke Or perhaps swallow and explode.

I long to speak.

To scream out my truths, my fictions, my long abandoned...... no me recuerdo.....

Porque empezo antes de ti.....

Who holds your tongue and controls its movements?

A caged bird aflame sits atop it and you silent still.

All black and gilded with mercury tears turned blood red.

And all the same you cannot tell me it wasn’t so.

That I may have, too, seen it all then in her face For it changes like mine.

Yet I cannot look her directly in her mirrored face.... (or we will surely perish, surely perish) Time forgotten, in this glass atrium of dreams turned night-- marish.

Will you find her at the bottom of the pot as you take and take and scrape and scrape the neverending story, the neverending lie, the ne’ending reality?

Pero bueno asi es.

And who will hold you now, who will carry you from the toppling tower?

Still silent.

Still bursting to come undone. Because I am un-done, unmade, unmanned...

Who speaks, why speak, when speak, talkspeak, speak-speak, speak up, speak out, speak in, speak welll, speak-eassssyyyy. ahhhhhhhhhhh But whose words?

On this colonized, raped and prostituted tongue spread and stretched wide Contaminated speech and sharp words, words, words swords longing to rip free (gut open) make no sense now. incoherent. incongruent. (inconsequential?)

Mirrored walls, mirrored faces, mirrored speech, and yet do you still not see for whom I speak?

Pangaea

Thalia Harris

THE BEGINNING

Before the Earth consisted of the seven continents we know of today, it was one super-continent known as Pangaea. Pangaea was a massive island in the middle of the ocean, shaped like one-half of a broken heart.

The warmest areas of Pangaea were in the South, as the red sand rested under towering palm trees, as the water rushed up on its shores. The West was a dank, humid environment, overgrown with mangrove trees and covered in swampy marshes. No outside living being ever ventured there—the West was uncharted and avoided. The East had a mountainous terrain, and was always subject to heavy rainfall for weeks, even months at a time.

But because of this rainy season, various herbs and medicinal flowers grew here; the East was valuable to the rest of Pangaea, despite its small size. The North was tundra, with jagged rocks on its cold shores. There was not as much vegetation like the other regions, but their ocean was rampant with all kinds of fish, providing necessary nutrition for the black bears.

Pangaea had been through many natural disasters such as hurricanes and volcano eruptions, which killed off many populations and destroyed many areas. Therefore, the Earth gave rise to three goddesses—to protect and rule over the land.

The first goddess was molded from the dark side of the moon. The elusive shadows were used to create her curvaceous form, and moon rocks were used to give her a muscular build. Once her body was formed, she was set down on Earth, where cacao beans were melted into a dark brown liquid and poured all over her frame. A sheep was then found and shaved of its fur, which was then dyed black and adhered to the goddess’s head as it cascaded over her broad shoulders. She was given eyes of onyx, full mauve lips, and wide nostrils so she could enjoy the delicious air.

She was named “Kamaria”, for “bright like the moon”. Queen of the South and Protector of the Night.

As the sun rose, the second goddess was created. Her form was made from the yellow sun and its glowing rays, giving her a tawny tint. Her body was slender and her eyes were large dark pearls, almond-shaped. Her hair was taken from the darkest of horses— a lustrous shade of ebony and placed on her head. Her face was round, her mouth was small, but her lips were still full.

ing.

She was named “Hikaru”, for “radiance”. Queen of the East and Bearer of the Morn-

As morning became day, the Sun’s rays became less strong and clouds began to form in the azure sky. The clouds and water droplets were used to make her body the most slender of the three. Her skin was like milk, and her eyes were the color of silvery raindrops.

Her hair was made of straw, which was then silkened by luscious golden honey.

She was named “Astrid”, for “divine beauty”. Queen of the North and Keeper of the Day.

In the first million years of their reign, the animals cherished their presence. The goddesses kept track of the various populations, making sure the circle of life was kept intact. However, they realized the natural cycle of the flora and fauna was not enough to cultivate the land. Therefore they decided to make humans out of Southern red clay—the color red was chosen because it was a close combination of the goddesses’ skin tones.

These humans were called the Afri, and they were placed in equal-sized populations in the three habitable regions of Pangaea.

KAMARIA’S HEART

A million years after the first generations of Afri set foot on Pangaea, each region of the land had taken advantage of its respective resources, not hesitating to trade freely across the borders. Though everyone was aware that there were three goddesses in reign, the goddess they favored the most was Astrid, because she was out during the day, when people were out working. The Afri knew that Kamaria was responsible for deferring many enemies, but they still showered Astrid with admiration.

The presence of the Afri not only helped the land, but it gave the predatorial animals new options for food. There were many a nights where Kamaria had to fight off a ravenous lion as it approached an infant’s window with no remorse. But she made sure to pay respect to the fallen animal, keeping in mind that they were there long before the Afri and the goddesses.

Due to her seclusion and limited reception of praise, Kamaria felt loneliness on a regular basis. One night, during her recess from patrolling the North, she met a young fisherman named Yahweh. He was a man of sinewy stature, with long wavy hair and hooded eyes. Despite his proud stance, he cowered in the company of Kamaria.

“Our Heavenly Mother…!” he praised, dropping to his knees.

“At ease,” said Kamaria. “I am on recess.”

Yahweh got up from his knees and took a good look at Kamaria’s celestial beauty. To say he was in awe of her would be an understatement. He was smitten. Whenever Kamaria visited the North to converse with Astrid, he always stared at her from the trees, but knew not to approach because she was not of this world.

After a moment of silence, Kamaria felt a rumble in her belly and put a hand to it.

“Have you eaten?” asked Yahweh.

“I ate before my shift. But that was over four hours ago.”

Without uttering a word, Yahweh gathered his spear and went out to sea. He stood in silence for a few moments before jabbing his spear into the water. When he pulled the spear out, five pieces of fish were stuck at the end of it, twitching wildly. Yahweh returned to shore, and held the stick out to Kamaria.

“Flounder,” he said with pride. “I know it is your favorite fish.”

Kamaria smiled, and held up a hand to let Yahweh know she would return. She then teleported to the East, and gathered some firewood at the base of a mountain. When she teleported back, she was met with a confused look on Yahweh’s face.

“Are you going to make fire with your hands?” said Yahweh.

“You could say that.”

Kamaria laid the firewood on the sand of the beach. She then rubbed her delicate hands together furiously until smoke began to emit from her palms. Finally, when small flames danced on her hands, she then laid them on the firewood, until it was aflame as well. Kamaria then reached out for the stick of fish, and began to cook them in the fire.

“If you could make fire with your hands, why did you need the wood?” asked Yahweh.

“The fire had to go somewhere. It would have been tedious to just cook all of them with my hands.”

“I understand.”

“Why are you out here so late?”

“I am thinking about my marriage.”

“Do you have a wife?”

“No…but I will have to search for one soon. So we can have children, and then they can fish.”

“Yes, you seem to be approaching that age. My young men of the South are concerned as well.”

Yahweh took a piece of roasted flounder from the stick and began to break it apart.

“Heavenly Kamaria, if you do not mind me asking…what age are you?”

Kamaria paused in eating her fish and glanced at him, acknowledging his boldness.

“I—I mean, you do not have to answer. Forgive me.”

“It is all right. To be honest, I have no age.”

“What do you mean by no age? Were you never a child?”

“No. “

“So the way you look now is how you have always looked?”

“Yes. The same goes for Astrid and Hikaru.”

Yahweh sat back in wonder. “That is incredible.” His eyes grew large. “I cannot wait to tell my friends that I shared a late meal with the Protector of the Night!”

“No, do not tell them,” said Kamaria abruptly. “They will think of you as above them. That should not happen. You are all equals. As a matter of fact, I should not be eating with you right now.” Kamaria got up to leave.

“Why not? This brings us closer. Should I not be close my Protector?”

“I am pleased that you know who I am,” replied Kamaria. This was not a formality. Deep down she relished the fact that a young man held her to the highest regard—that alone made up for the millennia of her being ignored. But she could not show it.

Yahweh stood up.

“I know who you are when you fly through the sky. I know what offerings to give you. I know how to conduct myself when I am blessed with your presence. But that is not enough. In order to truly appreciate my Protector…I must know her face-to-face.”

Kamaria looked back at him.

“I am willing to bring you flounder every night, each piece fatter and juicier than the last—if that means I can know you on a regular basis.”

Kamaria looked down to the ground, and then looked back to the young Yahweh.

She said nothing for a moment, and then nodded.

“I will be grateful to you, in your doing so.”

She then floated towards the sky, and flew over to the East.

HIKARU’S WILL

Because nothing occurred in the morning, Hikaru’s patrol was relatively short, taking her less than an hour before returning to her homeland.

Hikaru was in her study, reviewing the taxonomy charts of the herbs growing in the land. She wrote down the information in a code only her and the Officers of the Fauna could comprehend. Hikaru picked up a brush and ink, and began to write the following on a sepia parchment as she read aloud,

“Southeast sector. Foxglove for epilepsy. Chamomile for digestive conditions.

Chauffers to increase blood flow. Southeast sector is ten acres…foxglove has three, chamomile has five, chauffers has one and a half.” She put down her writing instrument.

“It is growing rapidly,” Hikaru said to herself. “How will we provide—“

Just then, one of the Officers of the Fauna burst through the doors of her study.

“Heavenly Hikaru!” said the Officer, dressed in a flowing robe of red and black.

“One of your gardeners is in a daze!”

Hikaru raised an eyebrow. “A daze? How so?”

“He ate a plant that was not recorded in our books, and now he is sitting in his garden, motionless and not doing anything! His wife and daughter are very confused.”

“Remain calm, Officer Aki. Take me to him.”

The soldier guided Hikaru a few miles away from her palace, until they stopped at a middle-aged, portly man sitting in his field of dandelions, just like in the hasty report.

Hikaru approached him and looked at him. His eyes were drowsy, but his spirit seemed calm rather than cloudy.

“Taro,” said Hikaru, addressing him by name. No response. “Taro?” Still he did not respond. His wife and daughter were in the house, with looks of worry in their eyes.

Hikaru sighed and laid her right hand on his forehead. “Earth’s spirit, I asked you to clear to rid this man of any drowsiness, any lack of clarity!” Her hand began to glow an intense blue. “Grant this man the right to live in mental stability and vigor! I ask you humbly and urgently, O Spirit!”

BOOM!

Taro was knocked back a few feet and laid in shock until he blinked his eyes and saw Hikaru standing over him.

“Our Heavenly Mother, I apologize. Do you know what happened?”

“You tell me,” answered Hikaru. “My assistant says you ate an unregistered herb?”

“Oh, yes,” said Taro with enthusiasm. “Allow me to show you.”

Hikaru and Officer Aki followed Taro into the house. “Your family has not ingested this herb, either have they?”

“Of course not. I told them I would try it first, and I did, but I do not remember what happened afterwards.”

Taro then pointed to a plant on the kitchen table. Hikaru picked it up and examined it briefly. It was a purple stemmed twig, with furry golden catkins growing on it.

“It resembles a pussy willow,” Hikaru observed. But the colors are unusual. She pulled off one of the catkins and held it to her nose. A strong, bittersweet smell came from it.

Hikaru looked to her Officer Aki and said, “Perform an examination on this man.

Make sure this had no negative effects on him. I will return to my home and inspect this plant further.”

Officer Aki nodded and began the examination before Hikaru left, and returned to the palace with the results a couple of hours later.

“Well?” asked Hikaru, trembling on the inside. If Taro were to suffer, she of course, would be to blame.

“No negative effects.”

Hikaru let out a sigh of relief, holding a hand to her chest.

“His memory was affected, but it was only temporary,” continued Officer Aki. “Of course, that is debatable because he took such a small amount. But he expressed feeling at peace with the many issues he faced last month, when we had the drought. Absolutely nothing was growing.”

Hikaru nodded. “I remember. If Astrid and Kamaria had not provided us with food, I believe all living things in the East would have gone extinct.”

“Precisely so. Perhaps we could register this herb as a stress reliever of sorts. Even though our land is thriving again, many of our people are disheartened at what happened.”

“Did he hallucinate at all?”

“A little, but it only enhanced everything in his field of vision, rather than conjuring up new images.”

“Then I believe it is safe,” proclaimed Hikaru. “Make a decree to everyone saying that their stress levels will be evaluated starting two days from now. If they show a need to relax, then they will attain this plant. And if they want to help grow this plant, then positions will be available.”

“But how are we going to cultivate enough of this plant for everyone to consume?”

Hikaru sighed and looked out her window. “That question gives us all the more reason to consider expanding our territory. I was taking some notes today. We are running out of room—or what little room we have.”

Her serious tone startled Officer Aki. “You’re not suggesting invasion of another land, are you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Oh, good.”

“I’m suggesting our entrance into the West.”

“The West? But—“

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard the stories. The tales of caution. The declarations of forbiddance,” replied Hikaru. “But we need this land to be on an even playing field. It is not about the number of territories. It is about the size of the area. And I feel we both know that we are at a huge disadvantage compared to the North and South.

If it was not for my medicine, half of Pangaea would be dead by now. I want to make sure we can all survive. Not just the East.”

“With all due respect, Heavenly Hikaru, the medicine is not yours. It was here long before you and the other Heavenly Mothers existed. It was here long before any of us existed, for that matter.”

“Do not patronize me with tales from the before time. It does not matter who it used to belong to. It is mine now, and I need more if I plan to keep my region thriving the way it is.”

The soldier bowed. “Then I will do everything within my power to aid you.”

ASTRID’S ORDER

Astrid was not a hateful person. She was courteous to anyone and everyone who asked for her help. She never took credit for any of Kamaria’s work.

However, when the Afri congratulated Astrid for a task that Kamaria had performed, she does not correct them. Which she knew was just as bad as taking credit. But in her eyes, it made no sense to pay homage to someone people rarely see. If Kamaria kept working hard, then they would see for themselves.

A few weeks after Hikaru’s discovery of the unregistered herb, the goddesses’ periodical meeting took place in the South. It was particularly sunny that day, so the three of them decided to sit in the backyard with the mango trees, rippling grass and graceful deer.

Astrid, dressed in powder blue robes, glided in to the backyard to meet Kamaria and Hikaru at the marble table. The Southern Afri looked upon her in awe, their humble eyes saying that their mouths could not.

The other two remained silent as Astrid sat down with them.

“The Periodical Meeting of the Three Queens shall commence,” announced Hikaru.

“All subjects are to leave immediately,” she finished, glaring at the Afri near the door. They dispersed accordingly.

“On the agenda, we have Kamaria’s lack of duty reports and my concern of the drifiting land,” said Astrid.

“And Hikaru’s new medicine,” snickered Kamaria.

“What is so humorous about my medicine?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I should ask your people what they find funny about your medicine. They seem to think everything is a riot after they ingest it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Astrid.

“Hikaru found a substance that makes people foolish and forget to do their work,” said Kamaria.

Hikaru gasped. “Nonsense! If anything, it makes my people work harder and more efficiently after they are done with their recess!”

Astrid flipped her hair. “Does this herb have a name? Has it been registered?”

“Yes,” said Hikaru haughtily. “’Gardener’s Delight’. It is harmless.”

“What about the land drifts?” asked Kamaria, changing the subject.

Astrid looked down, sighed, then looked back up at the others. “I was called down South today, and the people brought me to their shores. I am sure you are aware that there is a small island not too far from the Cape.”

“Yes?” said Hikaru.

“The Southerners tell me that the island is much farther away than it was the day before,” said Astrid. “You can see from yourself from here.”

Kamaria and Hikaru stood up to look over the horizon. “I have to squint to see it.”

“Exactly,” replied Astrid. “Which begs the question…how could you not see it in your home territory?”

The hairs of the back of Kamaria’s neck stood up.

“I mean, you are always on patrol at night, are you not?”

Kamaria’s face felt hot. “Well, it must have slipped my mind.”

“You have been haphazardly lately, and you always reek of fish, “chided Astrid. “Perhaps the meat is making you sluggish.”

Kamaria did her best not to show anger at Astrid’s arrogance. “It will not happen again,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I sincerely hope not.”

With that, Astrid left the meeting without excusing herself, and headed back to the North.

Kamaria stood there for a moment as anger infested her spirit. Then, in an enraged rapture, she lifted her arm up and smashed it into the marble table, breaking it into little bits.

Hikaru walked behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You gave Yahweh your body, did you not?”

“He gave me his as well. Our actions were mutual.”

“That is not what I was implying,” Hikaru said gently. “You know you cannot make love with a mortal. It puts him above the others. All men go through a change after making love for the first time. But Yahweh has made love to a goddess, so his change will be much stronger than that of his peers.” She then walked around to the front of Kamaria.

“You have noticed the changes, no?”

Kamaria bit her lip as she recounted the sculpture of Yahweh’s body, the pearls of sweat that rolled down his abs whenever he approached Kamaria as he sat by the fire. His confidence and assertiveness replaced his piety and awe when he first met her. The way his smoldering eyes looked into hers, how he danced between her thighs, and how it unusually rained whenever they were in the final throes of their erotic euphoria.

Hikaru, seeing worry in Kamaria’s eyes, said, “I will turn a blind eye to your affair, if you help me with mine.”

“Are you having an affair with your assistant?”

Hikaru scoffed. “No, I would never do such a thing. I plan to conquer the West. If you aid in my quest, I will give you some land from there upon my victory and keep your secret from Astrid.” She took Kamaria’s hand into her own and stroked it gently. “I tire of her getting all the attention as well. You and I are the sun and the moon. The beginning and the end.”

Kamaria nodded in silence as she looked away.

“What is she?” Hikaru continued. “The inbetween. The elusive. “ She turned Ka

maria’s face back to hers. “The untrustworthy,” she concluded.

The two goddesses held an intense gaze, one reading the other’s facial expressions, attempting to decipher each other’s intentions.

“Give me the plan,” said Kamaria. “And I will follow it.”

ASTRID’S THREAT

Astrid landed in the North and was approached by a few of her people, who wore big smiles on their faces.

“How is everything?”

The youngest man nodded fervently. “Everything is splendid, Heavenly Astrid. We have caught our biggest bounty in a while, thanks to our Leader!”

Astrid laughed, “Bounty? Leader? What are you talking about?”

“Come see!”

She followed them to the shore, where a large crowd of the Northerners, men, women and children, were gathered around Yahweh, as he stood on a large rock, holding a huge net filled to the brim with all sorts of live seafood.

While everyone else clapped, Astrid stood in an austere silence.

All of the North had an elaborate banquet that night in celebration of the glorious food. Everyone ate in the sand, as their children ran around playfighting each other, using

fishbones for swords. The young women felt a deep desire to be Yahweh’s wife, but he politely refused as he looked forward to meeting with Kamaria that night.

Astrid spotted Yahweh and pulled him aside so they could have a conversation.

“Our Keeper of the Day…what do you wish to discuss?”

“How were you able to catch all of that fish?”

Yahweh shrugged. “I am not sure. A newfound strength, I suppose.”

“Well it is messing up the balance of life. They eat all this food now, then what?

What will they do the next day? You have dramatically affected our food supply!”

“Astrid, if we were to expand our territory, go into the forests…I am sure we could find more food. Can we enjoy ourselves for now?”

Astrid did not respond for a few moments because she was so disgusted that Yahweh called her by her first name.

“No,” said Astrid. “We cannot. Now you have a decision to make.” She grabbed Yahweh by the shoulders and turned him towards the gathering. “See those women over there?”

“Yes,” said Yahweh reluctantly.

“Pick one of them as your wife. You are at that age, are you not?”

“Yes, but—“

“But what?”

“I do not need a wife. I am satisfied with what I have.”

Astrid scowled. “And what is that?”

Yahweh chose his words carefully. He had the name “Kamaria” on the tip of his tongue, but instead he took a deep breath and said, “The absence of a wife. The freedom to do what I wish.”

Astrid slapped him.

“Now you listen to me. I do not care what new strengths you may have attained, but that means nothing to me! And when they run out of food, it will mean nothing to them. You have two choices. Either choose a wife by sunrise and cease your disrespectful ways, or I will have you executed for treason. I refuse to have an audacious mortal think he is on the same level as his Heavenly Mothers.”

Then she walked away towards her palace, leaving Yahweh to his conflicting thoughts.

HIKARU’S PROMISE

Hikaru stood at the top of one of the smaller mountains to deliver a speech to her people. She stood in robes of emerald, with Officer Aki by her side.

“My fellow Easterners,” began Hikaru. “I know it has been arduous for you these past three months. The rain that usually feeds our crops have drowned them, only to be followed by the drought we had last month, drying most of our crops up.”

The Easterners mumbled in agreement, their tan skins glazed with sweat.

“You all have been very well in working with me through these hard times, and I along with the Officers of the Fauna, have done our very best to compensate. To keep track of food and water, guarding the land from outsiders to keep it safe.

But I am only capable of so much. To be truthful, the weather we have has ravaged our soil. We are running out of room to plant enough herbs to keep us afloat. Therefore, I am ordering that, we leave for the West late tonight, while the weather is still agreeable.”

Gasps rippled throughout the crowd.

“No one ever goes there!” an Easterner shouted out.

“You are wrong,” said Officer Aki. “No one has ever been there. We promise, we will make sure you are protected. And not everyone is going. Only half of the men and a quarter of the women.”

“In addition,” added Hikaru. “Queen Kamaria of the South has agreed to help us move out there. During her night patrol, she has fought off many creatures and will protect us through the night.”

“Does Queen Astrid know about this?” asked another Easterner.

Officer Aki almost jumped down from the mountain to talk to the insubordinate, but Hikaru stopped him.

“No,” answered Hikaru with triumph. “And we will keep it that way for as long as we can.”

KAMARIA’S FAILURE

Kamaria was up North, to say goodbye to Yahweh before she aided Hikaru in her exodus. She approached the spot where her and Yahweh usually meet. As Kamaria got closer, she noticed there was no fire, not even a little smoke in that area. Kamaria then teleported to his house and stood outside his window.

Yahweh was in the kitchen, standing by himself. No one else was around. He looked as if he was waiting for someone. How could that be? Kamaria came on time; it was he who was late. Kamaria opened her mouth, ready to say something, until a short, curvy woman approached him. Yahweh smiled—the same smile he gave Kamaria whenever she arrived—and opened his arms for an embrace. The woman entered his arms and her face was beaming. Her hand caressed Yahweh’s shoulder, and of the back of it was a tattoo of his name with two stars at the end of it—the symbol of marriage.

They then blew out the candle and went to Yahweh’s bedroom.

Kamaria backed away from the window in shock. She put a hand to her chest and could feel her heart pulsing underneath her palm. She let out a huff as she paced around the area, trying to figure out what went wrong. Kamaria then stopped pacing and recounted the look of malice in Astrid’s eyes when she was chastised about her duty. Her shock was then replaced with hatred as she thought to herself:

“Astrid. Astrid had something do with this. That miserable, pale-faced taint,” she spat on the ground and it turned white—her saliva had ravaged the soil of what little nutrients it had. Kamaria then flew to the center of Pangaea, cursing all the way.

THEIR END

Astrid was resting in the center of Pangaea—it was a foggy place of neutrality—a hybrid of all of the climates and terrain. No mortal ever went there. They would be lost forever if they tried to go there.

She laid in the gray sand, her porcelain skin stained by the dark color until she was met with a startling punch in the face. Astrid rolled over and held her cheek until she opened her eyes to see an enraged Kamaria.

“What did you say to Yahweh?”

Astrid held her own against Kamaria as she stood up to meet her eye-to-eye. “What he needed to hear. He thought he was a god, and I had to put him in his place.”

“He has every right to think of himself as a god. He made love and knew me. A goddess. Oh, but I guess you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Astrid raised an eyebrow, before she threw her head back and laughed. “No, I did not know he was your lover. But now that I do know—“

She pushed Kamaria in the chest, causing the ground to crack as she landed on her side.

“You traitorous whore! Do you know the damage you have done?”

As Kamaria struggled to get up, she heard Hikaru’s voice calling to her.

Kamaria! Kamaria!

Astrid stood over Kamaria, waiting for her next move. Kamaria rolled over in pain, holding on to her throbbing ribcage.

“Yes?” Kamaria struggled to say.

Where are you? We are supposed to make our move tonight!

“I’m at the center. You don’t need me,” replied Kamaria. “You can make the move on your own.”

But you know how the world gets at night.

“I’m sorry,” said Kamaria. “But…Astrid ruined my love.” Kamaria finally got up from her crouching position.

Astrid shook her head. “Who are you talking to?”

“Hikaru. Your nose is so high up in the air that you can’t tell when I’m talking to our sister?”

With that, Kamaria formed a shadow in the air and hurled at Astrid. It hit the side of her face, burning her white flesh to expose even whiter flesh.

Kamaria smiled at the sight of it.

I am coming there now, said Hikaru before disconnecting.

“You better hurry up, Hikaru,” Kamaria taunted, inching closer to Astrid. Astrid raised her hands in the air as dark clouds formed around her arms and they rearranged themselves as a shield. She looked in Kamaria’s eyes, daring her to come close.

Kamaria let out a cry of rage as she hurled more shadows at Astrid, only to be swallowed by the clouds, making her shield engorged. Kamaria maintained her composure, even though she was scared on the inside. She raised her hands to release a shadow that was this time sprinkled with electricity, until both of them stopped for a moment.

The air around them fell silent as they saw a huge fireball charge at them from the sky. They looked in awe at who it was, until they got a better look and realized—

It was Hikaru, with a face expressing her accumulated anger.

She landed on the cracked ground with a thud, causing both Astrid and Kamaria to fall back.

“This is foolish!” she shouted. “The East struggles to survive, and you two are quarreling over a man?”

Astrid replied, “You know, what is it with you and the East? You act like we ignore you all the time. Were we not there during your drought? What are you whining about?”

Hikaru grabbed her by the neck. Kamaria was taken aback by her boldness.

“What am I whining for? For years, I’ve had to live in your fraudulent shadows.

Watch you get praised for nothing while I get weaseled out of everything. And you?”

Hikaru continued, looking to Kamaria. “You unreliable twit. Seeing as how we both had issues with Astrid, I believed you to be my ally. But I supposed I was wrong. You only agreed with me, to keep your secret from Astrid. You could care less about the East.”

Kamaria shook her head furiously. “Hikaru, I barely have control over the South let alone trying to help someone in the East. I get so tired from patrolling during the night, that I barely make it through the day to even see a quarter of the Southerners!”

“No, no, no,” Hikaru said in a gentle, yet solemn tone.

“You can’t make it through the day, because you’re too busy lying with someone through the night. And now an entire region of Pangaea will crumble because of you.

How does that make you feel?”

Kamaria knocked Hikaru to the ground and proceeded to wrestle her on the ground. Astrid ran over partially to help Hikaru from getting beat by Kamaria, but she wanted to hurt her as well for going behind her back and planning the expansion into the West.

Each of them defended themselves accordingly until the three goddesses were caught up in a chaotic physical conflict. Their strength resonated so much that the drift that had been in progression for the past five days was now even more powerful than before. The ground began to shake, causing one of the biggest earthquakes in centuries.

The winds picked up around the world and blew mercilessly, yanking trees from their roots and throwing them all over the quaking ground, destroying homes all over and dismantling lives.

The three goddesses, realizing what they had done, reached out to each other, but they and their respective regions were too far. The world crumbled around them, and all three goddesses were hit by rocks, trees. A sharp twig pierced through the heart of Kamaria, a speeding rock bashed Hikaru in the back of the head, and Astrid fell into an abyss.

Moments after they met their demise, their spilled blood flew towards the sky and scattered around the now seven continents of the world, touching the skin of the devastated Afri. Depending on whose blood touched an Afri’s skin, they remorphed into the image of that respective goddess. If they were touched with blood from different goddesses, they were a mixture of those goddesses’ image.

In an area of what is known today as Eurasia, a group of displaced people stood in a daze, mourning the loss of their respective queen. It was hard to tell which queen they were ruled by because they were of mixed blood. The area around them was barren, and food was scarce.

“Who will lead us now?”

Everyone looked to Yahweh, the one person who was not touched by the goddesses’ blood.

“There will be much more to dream of in a new strange land.”

Caitlin O’Neill p. 36

The Udu Drum

Claudette Davis

I have no country no home, other than the one built inside of myself I want to return to my Mother a far water-lost memory of the warm dark sun the Orishas are calling me back give me a Yoruba funeral but take me to where I was born somewhere beneath a Baobab tree it will take the blood that whip has spilled I will die before I am taken beneath him unplait my hair, give me Bagbadi or Bantu lay me down like Ochun wash the red dust and pluck sugar cane from my chained up bones in some Carribean hell have the Griots speak gently of me let the Djembe sing bring the Belong there was no where I went without the beating of drums pounding always inside Sankofa will bring me back to you in some familiar disguise the ancestors will welcome their stolen daughter dancing in the sunset of my African house.

Sleep Now

Caitlin O’Neill sleep now because when you wake you will be on the other side of the world this man on your left will be your brother this woman on your right will be your sister this new language you will speak will be grief this memory you share will be sorrow like water welling in the pit of your stomach fresh each dawn when the new day will come rubbing salt in your wound so for now dream of guinea dream of riding home on the back of yemaja, into the arms of your adoring people or dream of nothing there will be much more to dream of in a strange new land with strange new people, and a strange new purpose but for now just sleep

Old and New Ghost

Chekwube Arinze

i am old weeping jars of honey and pepper seated where my nights have faded into each other i am an empty calabash aching to remember the taste of sand and swollen paw paw i am the erasure of time and oceans my backward diaspora crackling like thirst-trapped chewing sticks very hungry, like the women who could not forget the taste of cocoyam and the coast, i am the bunsuru fish that used to be a bird.

Father

Truc Lin Nguyen He sits with elbows sprawled out on the kitchen table.

He is not listening – weight of concentration in his hand.

He sounds out the words. Hesitant with each letter syllable consonant.

Scratch out, he starts over.

He has a heavy tantrum, I know.

He trips over my piles of Plato, Amy Tan, and Gertrude Stein.

At night he will tell himself a bigger house would give me the space I need for Neustadt, Flaubert, and Toni Morrison and all the others responsible for the space between us.

He uses white-out leisurely, blowing gently on the page.

I tell him to be patient, things need longer to settle.

But he does not listen; there is no speaking truth to pride.

He is on his 3rd draft. No longer sounding out the words.

He rubs his eyes, he grows tired, uninspired.

He has memorized the lines, predicting words in his head, hoping to move on.

He is insecure, casting self-doubt I sit across the kitchen table watching on, twisting in bouts --- feeling rude, Offering help.

Road into the Storm on Fire Reivin Alexandria Johnson

Yesterday morning I took to the road with my professor Pam Brooks. On the way there, my mama, maw maw, and little brother joined me on the trip to Chalmette, Louisiana to meet her. As we passed over a bridge, the SUV began to wobble. My little brother hates being that high up. I could see my mom’s eyes worry in the mirror as we realized that the right back tire was flat.

“The car. It’s pullin. It’s pulling” said my mama. We had to pull over to avoid from skidding into the river below us. There wasn’t much shoulder, but we felt safer and called an operator who connected us to AAA. They told us they would send someone named Tony. We would have been sitting there for hours if we left it up to them.

After twenty minutes of waiting a black man in a white van pulled over.

“Who is that? The road police?” my mama was being very calm. My frustration levels were rising at the thought of missing my ride to Oberlin. My maw maw jumped out of the car to meet the man who was walking towards our SUV. He was smiling.

I could hear him and my maw maw’s conversation through the window. She’s good at being social. She talked to him while he plugged the tire. It must have been damaged by a nail from all the road construction. As my maw maw kept him company, I just sat there while my little brother spoke in seven year old language, “One potato, two potato…” I began to panic. What if we didn’t make it to Ms. B in time?

She would have had to have left me there. When it’s more than one Johnson women together trying to get somewhere we’re always late. “…three potato, four.” The road angel in the white van stood up from the ground.

He was a head taller than my grandmother. I overheard him say that he was a Jehovah’s Witness, a good Samaritan named Dallas, from a town next to ours called Thibodaux. He plugged our tire for us, and gave us the nod to travel on. I rolled down the window, “Thank you, sir.”

If we would have waited any longer, Tony would have never came. Ms. B would have left, and my maw maw and mama would have had to have driven me to Ohio.

Either that, or I would have had to taken a plane. I dreaded leaving my plants behind. Driving there was my only option especially with my special cargo. Cane Boudreaux, Able Thibodaux, and Mary Vines were not staying in Terrebonne Parish.

I was so relieved when we got back on the road. I trusted that our tire would make it there and be sturdy enough to get my family back home. “Can I have Paw Paw’s dream catcher?” I was referring to the one hanging on the mirror above the dashboard. My paw paw, Chico, had died a year ago and left the SUV we were riding in to my maw maw. “No, that’s for Chico, we need to keep it in his car.” my maw maw let out with a smirk. She was right. It belonged in the car.

On our way to Chalmette we got lost in the ninth ward. We couldn’t find the right route. We circled St. Bernard Ave. and had some time to cruise down Canal Street. I must have asked a dozen people to roll down there windows for help. It wasn’t until I called Ms. B for the tenth time that she was able to guide us in the right direction.

Before we reached her daughter’s address, we were stopped at a train crossing.

“I swear, if this train don’t move in the next 5 minutes. If it go backwards one more time, I’m gon’ get out this cah and take off all my clothes and run around this street!” My maw maw was always one for exaggerations.

Although at this point, I wouldn’t put it past her to do just that. We finally reached Chalmette and a very relieved Pam Brooks. Let’s get out of here, I thought, before something else happens. I hugged and kissed my family goodbye, knowing that the next time I saw them, they would look a little older, a little less like the people I knew growing up.

Ms. B and I were glad to begin our trip. We both had folks waiting for us at our final destination. I only knew it would be so long before my close friend Hunter would fall asleep. As for Ms. B, her mother was at home alone. Our drive started off great. We talked about each of our visits to the South. In between stories of our journeys, we sang to NeYo and listened to NPR. I would sometimes nap only to be awoken by Ms. B asking me for directions. One time in my dream, I heard her gasp from reality. I opened my eyes to see the burnt remains of an overturned 18 wheeler on the side of the road, a metal skeleton. I remembered it from our drive down to Mississippi a week earlier. Or was it a different one?

When the sun went down the rain clouds came. We were in the Appalachians of Kentucky when we began to see the lightning storm. It was over Cincinnati when we first saw it. The longer we drove the more the skies nearest us filled with stark bolts of electricity. The horizon lit up like it was daytime, and I saw no clouds above me only a bright white light. It shocked us in our car.

“Ooh. The lightning is so pretty.” I thought.

Memories of Houma lulled me as our hybrid found it’s way through hills and billboards. I fell asleep and drifted into lucid memories disguised as dreams of the near future.

We drove through Cincinnati in all the rain, it wouldn’t stop. I fell asleep again after giving Ms. B. the last directions, “Cleveland I-71 N Exit 264 then interstate 250” “Okay Okay.” she said. I closed my eyes. The next time I opened them, there was a white cop waving an orange flag. He was screaming something with his eyes. I couldn’t hear what he was saying because Ms. B’s voice filled the car. “Why can’t we go this way?” She asked.

She asked. The cop was blocking us from taking our last major exit before we reached Oberlin. He had a club in his hand. I began to roll down the window. That was when he came down on the glass on the front of the car. He could have broken it. I finished rolling down the window. “You can’t go this way.” he yelled.

“Thank you, sir” I said as we sped off in the wrong direction. I thought about Dallas, and how he said he cut the grass on the side of the highway. The rain wasn’t as heavy as it had been all night. Ms. B wasn’t speaking, and I promised myself to not fall asleep again.

“Ms. B, can you put the window up?” she didn’t say a word.

“What is this heaviness?”

Chiemela Ubagharaji next page

Unknown Anonymous

Young, but old.

Old man swag is what I like to call it.

Like to call it, what I would like to call you is ...fine.

Fine, cute. I think you are, but what I would like to call you is...something that rhymes.

I’m sure you can figure it out.

With ya old man swag, I would be so glad. I’d be delighted, really excited...if one of those jazzy songs you made was for me, about...we.

I mean...forget it, scratch that, I wasn’t supposed to say that or take it there.

Forget I was even here.

Because you’re on ya grown man swag and I’m still growing.

With all this knowing, you just stay young cute and old.

And I’ll be here wishing my swag was old enough to interest your’s.

Unspoken

Chiemela Ubagharaji What is this heaviness?

It’s like somebody is stacking math and physics textbooks on my chest and I can’t breathe Not easily It’s like I’m all alone I hear voices of outsiders at a distance Familiar though they are I can’t get my self to join I feel alone.

Because you’re not here You’re in my thoughts, So that’s where I am Lost in my thoughts…

Then, like a sudden gust of wind, You enter Out of nowhere Out of my mind and into my reality, I can’t help but gasp for fresh air Yes. The same air I’ve been breathing is suddenly fresh I am now aware of my heartbeats and my stomach’s tightness Strangely this feeling is not so bad Not when you’re here I smile You smile I laugh You laugh I smile Before long, you’re gone again I pretend But I’m alone Again.

And all I can think about is how the subjects math and physics weigh on my heart

To My Husband, yet to be found.

Claudette Davis

Odo nyera ne fie kwan I have found you again, somehow The warm light of your sun And the musky scent of home Which was ours, sold off and burnt to ash Born again, now ours once more I Kyekye pe aware!

My body would not have left you If it had not been taken Turned to ashes many years ago.

Your name was marked on my soul.

Se wo were fin a wo sankofa a yenkyi So now, I have come to you, on her back.

Only as I am, bleeding in some places It was a unmerciful trip But you kiss me still, as though you expected me back Tasting like forgiveness for everything I have ever done wrong.

Shh...

Maya Iverson i was there. watching fingers fly across your body with little sense of time and a heightened need for repetition and no rules. i was there. when your glow wrapped around my sllyabic utterances and refused to let go until ‘may i?’ licked the air. trust me. i’ll always remember how it feels to quietly exhale exhausted silhouettes on amethyst sheets

“We have grown a garden for each other in the wounds of our scars.�

Claudette Davis p. 54

Insecticide

Magalee Cirpili Ellen’s boots thundered through the cardboard-thin apartment. It was an abysmal place to call home, even after a day in the tarpits of corporate America. Every night she opened the door to her own padded cell, cut off from the world but still seething with madness. Once she was inside she was stuck, alone and silently screaming with nothing to steal her from the gluey gravy of microwave dinners.

The door slammed like a cough and Ellen locked it behind her. She hung the keys on the mantle and threw open the fridge, eyes darting for the tall glass bottle of burning relief. Untwisting the cap, she kissed the pungent lips and dove into the fiery cold, her heart swelling with warmth.

She swallowed and sucked the air at her teeth, the fermented fluid vaporising at the back of her nose, at the edge of her throat. Smiling, she leaned against the freezer and gulped a second, fourth, seventh drought before sliding to the floor, her hair leaking into the vegetable crisper.

She wouldn’t remember later how long she sat there, staring at the underbelly of her refrigerated groceries. Clutching the bottle like a revolver her eyes drifted between the molding corner of her whole-grain bread and the dry shrunken block of sharp cheddar cheese. Her ears reddened and tensed against the cold. Shakily, Ellen lifted the bottle to her lips and tipped upwards, a faint glug echoing through the glass.

It didn’t matter how many times it had happened. It didn’t matter how many times she had seen it. She was blazingly incensed when she found herself at the bottom of a bottle. Brain stuttering and mouth bleeding boozy spit, she tossed the bottle against the wall, leaving a plastery dent of a hole in its wake.

Ellen stumbled forward and the fridge eased shut behind her. Her mind hummed and pulsed, hammering inside her rolling skull. A buzz.

A buzz.

“What the fuck is that?” she murmured, her eyes dragging across the view. A black spot drifted around the kitchen, its wings whining with propulsion. Fucking fly, Ellen thought, and she pulled herself up to attempt verticality. Propped against a table with her hands, her knuckles whitening with tension, she searched for a magazine.

She curled up a Drew Barrymore Vogue and gripped it in her hand above her head.

The fly dipped and sailed above the oven, landing on the cabinet door over the burners. Clumsily, the magazine collided with the now squishy exoskeleton, a shiver of victory rippling in Ellen’s bloodlust. Smirking with pride, she wiped the insect’s mushy corpse against the edge of the stove.

But there was another fly sipping at the droplets on the sink. It too met its doom against Barrymore’s puckered lips.

Another fly tempted Ellen’s wrath before her ears snagged a deeper sound. It vibrated in the walls on which she leaned, vodka ringing in her exasperated breath. Her eyes linked with the sound and found it in the broom closet. Behind the closet door a muffled shriek of beating wings danced on the airwaves.

But vodka is a cocky little bitch and raised Ellen’s arm to full height, drunk, fucking blind, and ready to slaughter every goddamn living thing in that closet.

It was a mistake. It was a terrible mistake.

A black cloud erupted from the closet, swallowing Ellen’s shrieks as they enveloped her. She swatted and spun and screamed as their legs crept over her skin between her breasts her eyes her nostrils her teeth her throat and they bit chewed spat dissolved her flesh the blood enticing their raging hunger. Ellen’s voice died as she collapsed on the floor, her writing skin alive with crawling black and eyes and wings beating into her agony. Her eyes burned white hot and the tears cried for her one last time as they devoured her sight, her breath, her mind.

The larvae fed on Ellen’s fetid remains for three days as the smell of her demise filled the building until the landlord went to complain to that bitch downstairs.

Night colored girls Claudette Davis

When we were young our parents told us that our skin came from the sheet of the night sky that God himself had hung above us, that when we touched the smoothness of our ebony skin we were touching divinity itself.

“Queen. Soleil, my two little night colored girls. You’ll never be like any other girls you see, and be thankful for it. You will always have each other, sisters, and you will never have to run alone, just like the night sky.”

We would nod, clutching each other’s hand beneath the sheets, scared by her intensity, her onyx face, the searing whiteness of her blind eyes.

When the door clicked behind her we would spring out of bed and laugh. Dancing on our wooden floor, our feet slapping a rhythm and the moonlight turning us to a purple hue.

Sometimes we would crawl out of our window and go running in the field behind our house. Dragging each other by the hands, our braids gleaming in the wind like tree trunks. Inseparable, just like Mother said.

We were invisible except for the glow of our white gowns.

Our mother turned into the moon. Watching us fly through the weeds and tall grass, always holding each other’s hands. Guiding us back home, touching us with the long light of her fingers. Bringing us back to our open window where she would be waiting for us, knowing where we had been, what we had been doing.

We were the night sky, our mother a soft orb of ancient knowledge and light that not even the limitless children of the sky could fool.

Kindreds

Claudette Davis

Me and Soleil we talk often. We talk for hours. We can watch the dawn walk up from the horizion and see the dusk with it’s dribbling lips sink off into the dust.

We can talk about nothing.

It isn’t so often that me and Soleil speak to each other. We will sit across from one another and speak into the holes and cuts that the world has left us with. Slowly. Tenderly.

Jealously, Judgement, Rage,Lust and Hate are all cast out from us. We speak to each other and ask for a rain with words like raised arms. My sister and I renewed with bright feet. We can see our pathways again, that was lost underneath the barrage of the world.

Speak to me sister mine and I will find myself. Speak to my wounds and plant tiny seeds.

Speak to us and know thyself.

We have grown a garden for each other in the wounds of our scars. What they have transgressed against us does not matter. Sunflowers fall from our heads and we smile.

Our hands are the single joint branch of two thick redwood trees. Wounds can be spoken to, healed. So that they can find their way back to Eden in their souls.

In the Valut

Reivin Alexandria Johnson i am hung like hunter---

---with wings sewn from the threads of every mattress in this town---that twinkle like every prom gown i’ve ever worn----medusa’s stare couldn’t harden me---but elder lady-nots in feathered tops, get me going ----damn all of this passivity, it’s ridiculous, and i’m blended----and my breasts are bruised from your attempts to mend them--- but you can’t fix it ---my bosom is busted and lusted after by every icarus on this cliff I wanna be huung like hunter----silent as a songbird whose gentleman parts have been ironed on gently-------castrated for the stages of Olympus--assist me--- i’ve spent 22 years trying to fasten these tubes to my crotch----soften these ticks on my clock and wonder--then watch how I fly off this cliff ---meet me at the bottom with your daedalus fantasies---meet me on top when i’m under you-----meet me in the middle when the daddy in you can’t handle me----and be wherever--you’d never be-- when you’re ready to shed yourself with me ----remember when we came and when we went And go there when you’re soft for golden touch---because where i’m hung like hunter there is a waiting line ---and, we can get creative in the queue--on wire hangers, i am hung like hunter---and i’m tired of waiting for you at the bottom--- ---- let us feast on tossed apples---in the wardrobes of the gods, where our skeletons can dance naked with bones war-painted with our sweat---generations are tied together like the wings i’ve sewn from your mattress---those eyes that peer are only jealous---they want it too

don’t let me melt alone

i feel---they would give anything to push me into the sun---

i know it i just know it we will harden with wax as the wind blows the tocks ----so come on, feel me in between the bandages fight through the knowledge and throw a fist in all the vogue----forget yourself and loose sight of consequence--forgo your labyrinth of thoughts, there are creatures there-----and their flesh is not as ripe as mine Walk a mile and bury your guilt in the graves of old and young lovers---in a corridor where minotaurs can’t reach. the search will make you hunger for me.

Atlas (was a black woman) Caitlin O’Neill

Atlas was a black woman Who carried the weight of the world between her protruding shoulder blades Dragging behind her the fetters of a past life, as she walked steadily into a bleak unyielding future This ocean is her ocean A sea of her blood, sweat, and tears That swelled as she toiled Until her grief was bigger than her body (bigger than she had ever imagined) and had risen to meet her, looking her in the eye before mercifully consuming her whole and when she sank her children (who were many) cried too wailing until the memory of their sorrow grew to consume them as well

and when their friends and family finally heard the news they were inconsolable and the waters grew more uncontrollable and the whole earth was a flood for five hundred years and the creator cried because it had been predicted that it would all go up in flames but no one had imagined it would end in a watery grave not when he had promised the multitudes rainbows, doves, and olive branches for the wanderer and his brood the creator cried because he was so sure they were all on the same page this once so sure that the pantheon was finally moving in the same direction but he should have known hell hath no fury like a woman scorned like a black woman, back broke, broke back forced to carry the burden of another race and now you’ve done it, how you’ve done it and didn’t anyone tell you she won’t stop crying until she’s sure all her children know her name? atlas was a black woman atlas was a black woman atlas was a black woman

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