Two Poems

Monostich On the Cusp of 40.

I’m a Terry McMillian character live & in charge of my own damn(ed) life.

I loathe men then clamor after their body parts regional accents
blue collar swag.

No, I am not the bitch to play with.

Himalayan sea salt baths is how I remain dignified & in tact.

The state of the union is apocalyptic dystopia with the ku klux klan leading the
stupid way.

Real niggas who love pussy do not deserve pussy.

I cry every weekend.

El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz is no longer with us. thank no one.

Caravaggio paintings contain tiny roman boys all naked & sinless.

Afro Sheen Shining & Afro Blue Mooning.

The Notorious K.I.M. on repeat is how I endured him fucking her
& making sons.

Let me tell it, I am one of Jesus’ confidants. Mary Magdalene invited me.

My Grandma’s earrings as amulets.

Lavender & eucalyptus on my bed sheets.

Tall glass of english rum for a kick.

Mozelle Batiste Delacroix is the prototype.

Lost ones dismiss me when I say I’m a feminist.

A healthy head of kink keeps the demons at bay.

Spookin’ ain’t never been easy.

People keep asking me to birth children I don’t want or need, my nig.

I am god. the soul of myself.

A man with perfect cuticles. what else is possible.

Pilate Dead walks into a bar.

Hidden under their husbands, women won nobel prizes.

2019 be like: nothing is real, hoe.

Gravitational anomalies exist in the redwoods forests.

I’m a magnet for miserable married niggas.

It is entirely plausible to love dick but not men.

I have the face of a circus.

I attend champagne parties & make all the Aunties’ pussies twitch.

Lucy Parsons tried to tell y’all.

I said I do in a furniture-less living room & regretted it fast.

What planet can I return to in which desire for me as I am is guaranteed.

A prophet is not accepted in her hometown.

Every African in amsterdam speaks to me in dutch. on sight.

The bible refuses to name hosanna’s sisters. why trust it to protect my body.

I’m more safe in a Brixton fish market than in my home state.

I’m still here. a tea cup full of rum & devastation.

I lick my lips first. the tip just after.

15 Yr Old Redbone Me
for Ahneva, Alexus, Ciara, Cristabel, Shania, Tayah

__________

Ashunda Norris is country down to her bones. Born and raised in the heart of rural, red clay Georgia, she carries the spirits of her foremamas into the room each time, every time. Her honors include fellowships from Cave Canem, the New York State Summer Writer’s Institute and a residency at The Lemon Tree House. A Black feminist, filmmaker, poet and teacher, Ashunda loves hot water cornbread, obscure cinema, star gazing, the ocean and Sirius. She lives in the city of angels.