Zami Zine by Zami Zine

spring 2015

UNTITLED DANA FANG

i. Before you came along, the conditions of my stay were simple. The restrictions of midnight, watching women sharing secrets and my thirst. I could never enter their gated orchards. I thought I understood why. ii. Peeling fruit with my mama’s sharp knife, the one hidden behind the flask of black vinegar I drink sometimes for good luck. As a child, I thought every heart was a ripe pomegranate— something we pry into sections and immerse in water to separate what is sweet from what is not. iii. Something filled the room as I watched you fix your ear in the mirror. There was light smeared across your neck; the damp curtains were reflected in the glass. My mama said that loneliness blooms in the chest like a poppy. I spent my life refusing. Your mouth gathered its red.

MY SAFE PLACE TAYLOR SLAY

How is it that I can cringe at the sting of anti-Blackness every day, but at the questioning of my queerness I flinch none? On a campus that attempts to shield us from the consequential label of sexual deviants, I have felt the blows of racism, but when the bubble pops at times when I can escape these grounds it is always a surprise to me to be recognized as queer. To complicate things, I hold a queer identity but I disregard others’ attempts to label me. Is it fear of further stigmatization that keeps my tone hushed when we fraternize in public spaces? Or is it just flirtatious secrecy that turns me on? To be quite frank, in instances of racial discrimination, I could feel slighted and suppressed, yet when someone tries to mock the unrestricted union of our hands, I find myself tickled instead of poked, as if I know something that they don’t. Although at first it may not make sense, this lack of anxiety is possible because of you. Your unconditional love and magnetic attractiveness have numbed me to the rest. I fear no naysayers because your gif to me succeeds their reach; you have given me every reason to be human. I see myself in a better light each day that you remind me of my importance and positive impact in the lives of people on this earth. When I stop to consider whether my relationship could be recognized as purely a phase, I am reassured of its permanence by the butterflies fluttering inside me, driving me to compose this memento of affection in hopes that you will be reassured of my love for you. In these times of civil unrest as the revolution prepares to address the systematic subordination of human bodies under a patriarchal white-supremacist society, I am comforted by the peace that I find in you, because your patience alone allows me clarity in who I am and who I love, therefore rendering me all the more capable of claiming what I as a human being deserve. It is very dangerous and worrisome to hold as many marginalized identities as I do, and it has been naively suggested to me that I do my best to present myself in the least threatening, assimilated way as possible. To that notion of cowardice I say No. Thanks to the intersections of my personal identities I have found the true companion for my soul, so for the rest of my lifetime I will continue to strut in confidence and not in shame, at you side; our intimacy being the brace for my backbone, and all the protection from queer-hatred and queer ignorance that I need.

INK A.C.

I want to stain you. The same way this pen stains me, its fine tip bleeding pools of ebony and navy blue into the crevices of my skin, I want to cover you. Etch myself into your every inch so deep that water couldn’t wash me away. My imprint would linger lighter than before, but every bit as much a part of you as I was the night you asked me if I always wrote on my hands.

SHE WOULD BE CALYPSO SMITH

If there were a different me Who would she be? What color hair would she wear? Would she shave, Or would she Nair? I imagine her to be Completely free From all frustrations and anxieties She could be all that I ever Wanted to be In the face of fear All she would know is bravery More confidence than any queen When they see her The mistaken thought would be Oshun But what if she Would not care to be What they think they see What if she Were the epitome Of her mother's dream? What if she Could be happy Full of life and carefree? They would believe In something so imaginary So unseen. Her sisters she would inspire Maturity she would admire She will not lose herself With unsure steps She won't disgrace herself With the absurdities of a liar

8 Â

I am seeing her to be The Spirit of Mahogany She would dance in the sun And run with the moon She would grow her hair And kiss her own wounds Her back would hold her up Despite the history of it's pain With every movement, Her right shoulder wouldn't send Shock waves to her brain Darkness wouldn't reach her Fear wouldn't teach her Impulses won't lead her Brown eyes wouldn't deceive her Children wouldn't lust for her Love won't hurt her She would sing with No remorse Loudly and off key She would be Me.

9 Â

BURIAL SANDIA ASHLEY

it rained the night our mother died, heavy in a way that drowned the earth and left it wanting. it had been a year of drought. we had never seen the moon hungry like this. while it rained you took me to the swollen river, set me down with my knees on the murdered earth, pressed your bloodlines into mine, said this is how we learn to be sisters. a year later a boy kissed me in the same way, touched my veins with his broken fingertips. the pressure left indentations on my wrists like craters and i imagined something heavenly taking home in my skin.

MY BRANCHES GABRIELA GOLDSMITH

The first ten years of my life merged into a strong base of a trunk Parents were happy, love and acceptance was in abundance I climbed trees and did not think of my place in society At age ten my father was poisoned by a co-worker My roots held onto the soil, hoping not to topple over Then the memories: I remember being told that it would not matter if my family died Because people like us “steal” their tax-payer money, and I cried I remember being told that nothing I had to say was worth listening to I remember being told to go to a community college as a straight A student Because only there would I succeed, not where I am now I remember being told that my genes were inferior to her kids By a wealthy family member These are my branches, my experiences Sometimes strong winds of anxiety and fear would break my branches Although my tree may not be as perfect and pristine as other trees Mine has weathered a lot, and hopefully no longer Because I know I will grow stronger

ALL THINGS THAT ARE LOST SANDIA ASHLEY

Dancing under sunrise and dew and what felt a little bit like Satan’s thumb, you lost your God on the river stones, slippery little thieves whose touch always felt so honest. Rivers, you’ve found, are the most dangerous of all the waters. The little boy who observed from atop a nearby hill watched your dance, swore he saw you simply slip off a pair of brilliant red wings, set them gently on the current and watch them go. Swore he watched you burst like a phoenix into flame.

L2 DYAAMI D’ORAZIO

i wonder where my sisters are those mixed race babes the queer latinas smearing their red lipstick on one another imprints of heat the soft sticky flesh on lovehandles yo quiero bailar contigo perderme en tu pelo dance with me nena let me get lost in your hair i wonder if they have all found one another and cuz Ma told me not to hold hands with girls they could not see me beauties enchanted by their own paradise passerby’s curious about their freedom maybe they are all at the beach debajo del sol riendo y cantando creating their own space to exist they don’t want to be in the movies they got tired of the misconceptions these sisters of mine with hips swaying and red lips they said, “No.” and for that I cannot blame them llevame contigo take me with you i pack light yo voy creciendo creating my own freedom slowly hips swaying and red lips the crashing waves pulling me toward them and myself

L3 DYAAMI D’ORAZIO

There are whispers of you still Hanging onto me Floating around like dust particles in the sunlight Your scent lingering in and out of my peripheries Settled on the tips of my fingers On my palms Underneath my arms Behind my ears On the corners of my mouth You’ve left your marks on me The edges of your teeth Coaxing me out asking me to play The steady gaze of your eyes Sending me on a power trip I can’t tell who we belong to These cycles in the night Where you fill me up Recalibrate my skin and Dialogue with my wounds I’m being gentle with my edges Pressing lightly on the strongest parts Tending to the weaker ones You crawl all over me in the air Sliding on my hips with your laughter Your atoms engaging with my atoms So that even when you’ve disappeared There is a gentle buzzing An electric circuit Starting ending starting and ending Around in the air space You’ll keep me company Leaving whispers on my hands Settling on the small of my back You linger