After Attending Audre Lorde’s School of Longing
the moment
I first read movement song,
passed onto me
as if a secret psalm,
I heard the sly hum
of ever aching melody.
the altar apse arched,
the choir belted,
the lines terrorized
my crescent spine.
on that evening
of thirst and tenderness,
the fluttering fragments,
wistful and longing,
subdued me like lullaby &
made me sway with dreams.
sometimes I chase
that moment.
wipe the dust off & sort through
as if old vinyl,
as if old entries of diary
trying to find that old note,
the little details
of a fleeting feeling,
of that same strike,
that same serenade,
and hope for the sands
to never again slither away.
Ceremony for Leveling and Dismantling
There will always not be enough
never enough water
never enough fondness
never enough control
Why wish to inhale others?
Why want to be the water?
Sometimes I feel as if
my hands severed
will never be able to sway
and swimming
you will never survive
I used to want to help you
my paws bitching and
bellowing falsettos
Why will we always be?
But never enough?
What do you hold onto?
Dismantling and Leveling for Ceremony
What do you hold onto?
But never enough?
Why will we always be?
bellowing falsettos
my paws bitching and
I used to want to help you
you will never survive
and swimming
will never be able to sway
my hands severed
Sometimes I feel as if
Why want to be the water?
Why wish to inhale others?
never enough control
never enough fondness
never enough water
There will always not be enough
Delilah
It
slid
dormant & detached but
meticulously.
I sliced
veins
that pumped a
percussion for me.
Just 5 pounds
of pressure I
held your love
liquid measure.
Neck laced
I placed
a pendant rose
your petals
they spread
like marigolds.
Slimy
slick
gluttoned, controlled
I had your head
spinning
like pottery mold.
Soft
subtle hands
left out to hold
were once caressed
and now are sold.
Fallen fervor
madagascar gaped eyes
A judas kiss
sacrificial sigh.
Devotion
What happens when you love the wrong
person unconditionally? Do you get that
love back in reverence, or reparations,
or points towards your next purchase
of person? What is the current currency
for love? You know what being rich
in love looks like. What being poor
in love looks like. But what does it
look like to defraud love? To
launder love? Do you not want
my overflowing endearment?
My dirty devotion?
Faith Brown is a native New Yorker and a poetry editor at 433 Magazine. She holds an MFA from City College of New York where she was awarded The Jerome Lowell DeJur Prize for her poetry manuscript. Her work has appeared in Promethean Literary Journal, Moss Puppy Magazine, Bx Writers Anthology Vol.1, and Daily Drunk Magazine. She is also on Twitter @_faithestella
The Marbled Sigh 