The Sun Was Forced Into Early Retirement
& There is a picture of Lil’ Kim gazing at the stars
her wish naked-visible, her face as open as any
wound.
She is transfixed and it is obvious she is in love
with what will not love her. It is a low beg the body
does our own muscles will out to aim the self
at what we feel is greater than us until we look
like a sign, a holy praise dance
cut off at the feet, submission
that offers permission to bury
yourself at the throne of any
slain God.
Kim could’ve fucked herself all the way through
the constellations but honestly what would you do
if your sun was shot from the sky? Eruption standing
still as a girl made of glass & grandmothers?
Kim was not enough faith for the sun. The sun don’t know
it needs the darkness. Considers it background. Faithful moon
also needs the darkness for contrast & the darkness? Darkness
just needs & needs & needs & needs & needs & needs & needs.
What would you do if your sun told you it was moving on
to another galaxy, a brighter one, that it will still shine on
you but only in secret bursts?
Would you sneak your skin
into its caress or follow your pride through the shadows?
When it explodes, do you shrivel & die? Or do you stay
& tell your kids about the sun that once was? The light
that made us all follow it--some blindly--some fully
aware of the dangers.
Kim did not follow the light. She tackled it -heart first.
Positioned into a less than sign & swallowed a load
of history, of the darker than & lighter than symbols
of a very very broken record.
The sun went & married
up, Kim grabbed it & began a slow melt from the face
down, self-sacrifice--is this not worship? Not faith? Sun
up & burnt out. Moon and darkness began to understand
each other.
But the moon. The moon will always be seen
as the gift and the darkness - as the terror, turned joke
to make life without the sun bearable. This is what humans do
when the sun is no more - The same thing we always do
gossip.
Cannibal Capers
is a short film, depicting African natives, drawn to resemble a mix between sambo and monkeys
as musically inclined flesh eaters. Who only eat flesh accidently after one native is confused for a turtle.
done in black and white.
as are most things produced in the U.S.
some people will point out the greys
when you show them the short
& they will say things like:
given the time period…
& will wait for you to understand
while the tune of the short chews
itself in your mouth like nails & leaves
your head a blank but black
clouded chalkboard.
Things I Traded in the 90’s & Early 2000’s
A TLC poster for: a kiss from a girl who would lie about it
today if you asked her
A kiss for: a Charizard Card from a boy who died 6 weeks later
because his pockets were empty
A Charizard card for: an invite to a party that I would lie about
today, if my mother asked me.
An invite to a party for: an invite to a better party
An invite to a better party for: friends
Friends for: better friends
Better friends for: lovers
Lovers for: sex
Sex for: A new pair of jordans
A new pair of jordans for: my life on the same street
where the boy was found
empty.
What Was Taken Out & Re-released
What the centaur Sunflower was thinking while she shined the hooves & brushed the hair
& carried the cape & adorned the tail of the blond white centaur & all her equal white
less blonde, slightly less equal friends & still made time to roll out
a red carpet was:
they don’t know how to keep still. then again being tired is the only reason to learn
how. learn’n happens best when yo’ hands is full, give you something to pass on to
your baby later, give you something to give. nobody give you nothin’ round here,
nobodies give no glances, no thank ya’s and then you got to give nobody smiles
wif’ lots of teef’ and only squinch yo’ nose when they’s not look’n. They’s neva’ look’n
Nobody can’t look at somebody my mama said, that’s a fact and aint we all half-horse?
aint we? you’d think them gals were swans or sumtin’ the way they carry on you’d think
they could fly, if anybody can fly, it’s me, much as i runs behind em’ ands to em’
cleaning up they’s mess and don’t they’s shit smell like mine and aint they ever gone be taught
what they shit smell like?
& There is a picture of Lil’ Kim gazing at the stars
her wish naked-visible, her face as open as any
wound.
She is transfixed and it is obvious she is in love
with what will not love her. It is a low beg the body
does our own muscles will out to aim the self
at what we feel is greater than us until we look
like a sign, a holy praise dance
cut off at the feet, submission
that offers permission to bury
yourself at the throne of any
slain God.
Kim could’ve fucked herself all the way through
the constellations but honestly what would you do
if your sun was shot from the sky? Eruption standing
still as a girl made of glass & grandmothers?
Kim was not enough faith for the sun. The sun don’t know
it needs the darkness. Considers it background. Faithful moon
also needs the darkness for contrast & the darkness? Darkness
just needs & needs & needs & needs & needs & needs & needs.
What would you do if your sun told you it was moving on
to another galaxy, a brighter one, that it will still shine on
you but only in secret bursts?
Would you sneak your skin
into its caress or follow your pride through the shadows?
When it explodes, do you shrivel & die? Or do you stay
& tell your kids about the sun that once was? The light
that made us all follow it--some blindly--some fully
aware of the dangers.
Kim did not follow the light. She tackled it -heart first.
Positioned into a less than sign & swallowed a load
of history, of the darker than & lighter than symbols
of a very very broken record.
The sun went & married
up, Kim grabbed it & began a slow melt from the face
down, self-sacrifice--is this not worship? Not faith? Sun
up & burnt out. Moon and darkness began to understand
each other.
But the moon. The moon will always be seen
as the gift and the darkness - as the terror, turned joke
to make life without the sun bearable. This is what humans do
when the sun is no more - The same thing we always do
gossip.
Cannibal Capers
is a short film, depicting African natives, drawn to resemble a mix between sambo and monkeys
as musically inclined flesh eaters. Who only eat flesh accidently after one native is confused for a turtle.
done in black and white.
as are most things produced in the U.S.
some people will point out the greys
when you show them the short
& they will say things like:
given the time period…
& will wait for you to understand
while the tune of the short chews
itself in your mouth like nails & leaves
your head a blank but black
clouded chalkboard.
Things I Traded in the 90’s & Early 2000’s
A TLC poster for: a kiss from a girl who would lie about it
today if you asked her
A kiss for: a Charizard Card from a boy who died 6 weeks later
because his pockets were empty
A Charizard card for: an invite to a party that I would lie about
today, if my mother asked me.
An invite to a party for: an invite to a better party
An invite to a better party for: friends
Friends for: better friends
Better friends for: lovers
Lovers for: sex
Sex for: A new pair of jordans
A new pair of jordans for: my life on the same street
where the boy was found
empty.
What Was Taken Out & Re-released
What the centaur Sunflower was thinking while she shined the hooves & brushed the hair
& carried the cape & adorned the tail of the blond white centaur & all her equal white
less blonde, slightly less equal friends & still made time to roll out
a red carpet was:
they don’t know how to keep still. then again being tired is the only reason to learn
how. learn’n happens best when yo’ hands is full, give you something to pass on to
your baby later, give you something to give. nobody give you nothin’ round here,
nobodies give no glances, no thank ya’s and then you got to give nobody smiles
wif’ lots of teef’ and only squinch yo’ nose when they’s not look’n. They’s neva’ look’n
Nobody can’t look at somebody my mama said, that’s a fact and aint we all half-horse?
aint we? you’d think them gals were swans or sumtin’ the way they carry on you’d think
they could fly, if anybody can fly, it’s me, much as i runs behind em’ ands to em’
cleaning up they’s mess and don’t they’s shit smell like mine and aint they ever gone be taught
what they shit smell like?
Siaara Freeman is a touring poet from Cleveland Ohio. She does this to eat. She likes to eat. She has three poems nominated for best of the net 2016 and a poem nominated for best new poets 2016. She also was nominated for a pushcart prize (keep your fingers crossed with her) She is social media editor and poetry editor at Tinderbox Journal. She is the founder & chief of her magazine Wusgood.black. She is a slytherin. She is growing her afro so tall God mistakes it for a microphones and speaks into her.