The Strains And Growing Pains

Jillian Christmas - “Black Feminist” (WoWPS 2015)

“Give me your blackest, most brackish kind of weather.  This thick skin is just waiting to be good for something.”

“Weathering” by aja monet

When the earth 

shatters beneath us and we are broken open, 

picked apart 

by the silence–

Let me tell you:

you are unrehearsed laughter  between the murmur of my lips,

an unconscious love,

a man dipped in midnight lightening.

I will fix my body for you and fold in the bend  of your arms,

a tortured jewel.

You are a freedom song

humming in the shadow of my soul

a healing heartache that kisses wounds and sets free tornados on my spine

such a crippling tongue.

My spirit is dancing  in the gospel of your chest 

and I have found music

glowing in the whirlwind 

of your eyes,

may we create new skies to fall apart under,

together.

The sun bent it’s head on my skin this morning and I could hear  the bones of butterflies  creaking in the breeze 

the breath of birds  heaving into the heart

of my ears. 

My eyes whistled open

the air still smelling 

of lavender smoke and wet leaves

i turn to you  staring the lids of your jarred pupils

your face

your face is a naked desert at dawn

an ancient heaven at horizon

your mouth slightly caved open

like an owling cow

I smile, blooming

because somewhere before

i remember this 

this silence

you sound of a starving angel when you sleep

you snore like a wailing forest, my love.

I think of you  like a waking dream,

of your spines grip

melted into the sand  dunes of my palms.

Last night,

last night your hands sprinkled  across my flesh

like rainstorms.

I can feel the sun this morning,

he is strong and gleaming.

Your eyelashes splinter  from the blow of my lips–

rise  and  shine.

Aja Monet (via purgatory-poetry)