Thick lips, mouth heavy as ocean
tongue lashing at the shore.
Life and death lies in the power
of the tongue. Let no silence
walk your waters or part your sea
hurricane Sandy your heart
break the levees of this city.
Whisper your loud and
speak your quiet; your whole being
to crack the bottom of their ships
that float against your dark sea.
waving body of song forever to sing.
Mother, hair of earth
wild lions of Kenya.
Like a tornado wind,
bellow of your confidence
curled, coiled and kinky
to break the teeth of taming.
Show them this is your
jungle, even if brick and mortar
wears the crown of gentrification
cement can’t abstain a rose’s
growth from concrete. The net of
your nappy hair catching the despotic “-isms”
in the knots they tried to comb through.
You. The garden of Eden
within barbed wire of labels,
head of sunflower, stand tall.
Honeysuckle female climbing out
the marginalization cage.
With your tendrils of freedom
coil over their boundaries.
Your body is an ever thriving vine.
You are a carcass of wild plains
Hips of the valley and the
craters of your canyons
will not apologize for their
stay. Head of rising sun
birth of mountains
from your bosom
you are the reason
for their tranquil treasured views
for you carry the stretch marks
of their sins, a canvas of impressionism.
They may refuse to say your name
and deny the beauty that still
came from the brush of pain
But you are heaven on earth.
Girl, body of a thousand hymns
Night in your skin eyes like a north star
shadows dance across the underground
railroad your heart holds. There is freedom
in your bones. Queen of the dark, they may
not bow to your skin but you wear
the crown of light. Sumi ink across
the white pages of their majority, you
are the art of a thousand galleries. Wear
your black, your woman as the sky wears
its blazing colors because everyone is
looking and admiring even if they refuse to
admit it. You are the heart of sunrise,
muting the cicadas that hum their
insistent song of sameness.
You. Body of the earth, mouth
of lion. Skin of night, glory
of Kenya gleaming in the sunlight.
Woman keep warring, keep roaring
and take back your body from the
caves of the world that try to paint
your skin with the ink of stigma.
Lydia Flores (LC) is a writeographer from New York City. Some of her of publications include Snapdragon Journal, Downtown Brooklyn Journal, The Poeming Pigeon, and Atlantis Magazine. She was also the 2016 recipient of Esther Hyneman Award for Poetry at LIU Brooklyn.