My hair is springy like the forest grasses
That cushion the feet of squirrels
Crinkled and blown in a south breeze
Like the small leaves of native bushes.
My black eyes are coals burning
Like a low, full, jungle moon
Through the darknewss of being.
In a clear pool I see my face.
Know my knowing.
My hands move pianissimo
Over the music of the night:
Gentle birds fluttering through leaves and grasses
They have not always loved,
Nesting, finding home.
Where are my lovers?
Where are my tall, my lovely princes
Dancing slow in grace
Toward knowledge of my beauty?
Where
Are my beautiful
Black men?
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i know my upper arms will grow flabby it's true of all the women in my family i know that the purple views like dead fish in Seine ...
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I didn't want to wait on my knees In a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the rise Of breath, the bur...
