The body as archive. As witness. As the one who kept showing up when your mind couldn't.

Body

The body has been the one in the room. This week we listen downward — to what it has been trying to say while we were busy with everything else.

Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind.
I seek no favor
untouched by blood
unrelenting as the curse of love
permanent as my errors
or my pride
I do not mix
love with pity
nor hate with scorn
and if you would know me
where the restless oceans pound.

I do not dwell
within my birth nor my divinities
who am ageless and half-grown
and still seeking
my sisters
witches in Dahomey
wear me inside their coiled cloths
as our mother did
mourning.

I have been woman
for a long time
beware my smile
I am treacherous with old magic
and the noon's new fury
with all your wide futures
promised
I am
woman
and not white.

A Woman Speaks

Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind.

The Body Knows

What does your body want you to promise it?

I'm not here to speak
Of what injustices await--
The underbellies of violators 
Or the error in their ways 

I, your body,  
Possess a power
Eyed by bodies 
Men dream devour

They could not care less
For age, weight, or dress
The tourists will still
Lust after your flesh

When those meant to guide you
Choose comfort instead 
I, your mistress, 
Surrender myself

But promises made
Are promises kept
And promises met
Are met with regret

Like I when I let them 
First ravage our flesh