Take the dead from the dead, the old proverb said; only a corpse may speak true prophecy.
I’ve never been to a funeral until today. I see dazzling arrangements of red, yellow, and purple flowers with long, green stems. I see a stained-glass window with a white dove, a yellow sun, a blue sky. I see a gold cross, standing tall, shiny, brilliant. And I see black. Black dresses. Black pants. Black shoes. Black bibles. Black is my favorite color. Jackson asked me about it one time.
“Ava, why don’t you like pink? Or yellow? Or blue?
His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin.
the man in black travels with your soul in his pocket.
Nowadays, a simple faulty brake light traffic stop, can get a black person killed. It’s better to fix the broken light bulb, then having to face and cooperate with a senseless police officer.
To hatch a crow, a black rainbow
Bent in emptiness
She got a long pointed nose and big fleshy mouth. Lips look like black plum. Eyes big, glossy. Feverish. And mean. Like, sick as she is, if a snake cross her path, she kill it
I open my eyes.
I want to know:
what is in the abyss of a kiss?
Are stars born in these black caves
that house bated breaths and unspoken words?
Do our souls crawl on these tender cheeks
to greet one another by ivory gates?
What happens when we kiss?
Where do you go?
Don’t tell me.
For I have lost my desire to know.
so that I forget myself.
I close my eyes
and fall in the abyss.
Oh, hey, kettle, I’m pot and wow, you’re black.