poem for a black boi
Tell me more about the black
boy you didn’t give a shit about
until he died—until the promise
of a bullet remanded his body
back to the earth & I’ll give you
the names of each of my boy cousins—
the blood behind their names still fresh.
No one chants the name of a black
boy until he is a soiled hymn.
Tell me, have you ever tried to love
what has yet to be spilled; what
sometimes has done the spilling?
The boy tells me all girls wear bras—
my small mounds showing through the
FUBU sweatshirt I stole from cousin Rob.
I cover his mouth with mine until there is
no further question of what parts
of my body do & don’t belong.
I cannot recall his name now—
only the secret our mouths kept
in that dark. I cannot tell you what
happened to that curious boy or
my curiosity in boys—only that
when we kissed I learned the name
of the boi I always was—a boi
with chin hair and heavy breast now
dreaming of all the boys I grew up
with—all those names I’ll never get back.