By Azeeza Muhammad
my lover was “too black!”
it’s as if his heart was stitched together
with mudcloth, a needle, and thread
his birthmarks the shape of adinkra symbols
he introduced me to real romance languages:
wolof, akan, yoruba, and zulu
whispering sweet nothings in my ear,
flirting in our mother tongue
because he knew no colonial language
could ever utter nor transcribe my radiance
my lover was “too black!”
skin the color of onyx like the last dayz,
a smile so rich
his teeth resembled cowrie shells
the very sound of his voice a divination,
speaking to the ancestors constantly
soft hair the texture of mississippi cotton
with neatly sectioned cornrows that mirrored fields
Leave a Reply