After Jericho Brown
By SIANI AMMONS
I turned myself to myself & became yr teeth.
I turned yr unfurled teeth into beams of moonlight & was
da pinned legs of a chair. I turned da chair to a kiss
Branded on da temple of a boy made out of tides. The tides
whine when watching. I’m Chiron. I’m Kevin. I’ve got God
in my hands. Clutching da rest of u, I got holy water
streaming from my palms, de-hide draining in da air.
I am Black and longing. I am long to send yr body
in da air. Suspended. Flying like Solomon…To send u
heaven. Forever, but a scar pulsing when-never
u smile. Yr blood my river I bathe my youth in.
Yr mouth a basket I dry my sweat in. We plate
a heart doused in bbq, hot combs & fried
dead-ends, & love, love & basketball. The myths are
only as true as Jada and Will’s love. It’s true. I’m slow
grindin’ like Computer Love booming on a sweat-
Soaked speaker. U already seen me wanting. U shiver
on beds of this want evry night. Evry body’s trapped, but
I’m Maya Angelou. Caged in da sorrow of this whimpered
body. I got no respect for tomorrow, pure utterance
da red of this morning. I invented yr bent leg perpendicular
to this wet. I am yr tense bone. When da world discovered
Beyoncé as Black, I was da airwaves taut in yr ear. I invented
da wide-toothed comb. I keep da edge of u laid & gelled. I was
invented for da flesh lips of yr mouth. I am Black girls
billowing their gums into Bubble-Lords. U believe me to be
yr obedient servant. U believe me to be humble, yr command
throbbed on my begging taste bloods. We take turns. U da spoken
poem, me da truth. U speak, I echo. I am sadder than
any lyric Frank Ocean wrote thinking of us. He thought of us
before he was born with yearn a necklace made from da branch
of a silent tree. I am on my knees burning yr shrine in the straw
of a bent broom. I jump at every spark. In Alabama, Mississippi, da
Carolinas, what haunted word freed them from this dying psalm? I turned
myself into a warning. I turned my yearning into Hail
Mary. U say my name with evry Black Longed-syllable of hurt. Alone,
Beyonce bites da vowels of our names into a song: If this is what you
truly want, I can wear her skin over mine. Her hands as gloves. Her teeth
as confetti. Her scalp, a cap. Her sternum, my bedazzled cane.
Bless your teeth bless your bless you you my Blessed Girl,
how will we return from this?
Writer | Siani Ammons ‘27 | sammons27@amherst.edu
Editor | Kate Bestall ‘27 | kbestall27@amherst.edu