reBound

I do not welcome
your tiptoe into curious territories.

This is about release
and recovery

solely a thing
of reparation;

making amends for giving
up

immunity
from sly and charming impurities,

prerogative
to be preserved and set apart.

                                    12.16.14

Co-Operation

... while reading Fenton Johnson

Co-operation

I had taken a lover for his morals and his strong family values

Apparently, he just wanted to dip into some danger.

He was one of those curious boys with a taste for The Other

and thought I could be his Saartjie Baartman or his Josephine Baker or some 80s-baby edition of his great grandpappy’s wet nurse.

He said to me one day that my cousin DayVauhn had taken his brother’s job.

I stared back at him blankly and asked him who had told his brother that blue eyes were worth more than a Master’s degree.

There was no calling of names

No dropping of N bombs

But the exchange was less than pleasant

so I had to introduce him to Cleopatra Jones or whatever bad ass Black bitch he thought he was getting some softer version of.

And that was the end of that.

A.Emme 2012

A Poem for the White Boys

I am an owl

But you’re a day walker

My voice is familiar

But before you

I

Am

A marvel.

A rare bird

With eyes beyond understanding

And vision surpassing the scope of your own

My dark feathers camouflage me

But my hoot gives me away

Let your eyes adjust

And suddenly

There I am

Quiet and still

I

Intrigue

You

My scent creeps around the glass

            Between us

and calls to your insides

Your fun-sides

Your oh-i-want-to-touch sides

A little bit of new car,

sweet almond, and Mommy

Excitement, baked goods and some old familiar comfort

A newness, a freshness

A sweetness

A meekness

Its tickled your nostrils and you can’t turn away

I am your sweet songbird

Who sings like a lullaby

A chant. A prayer

Soothing, calming

Inspiring, uplifting

Soul stimulating

Mind titillating

Dream infiltrating

Strutting through your thought bubbles

Leaving footprints where there were none

Disturbing the sand

The waves just washed blank

With tracks that lead you in circles

But never back home

                                                -A. Emme

                                                       2011