my mother said my hair was like moss
difficult to comb into the pillow
at the crown of my head
she melted it fine
and pulled, pulled it free from itself
thousands of nooses without the knots
i cut the nooses free
gathered and twisted and curled
and colored the knots
the forbidden, the embarrassing
the backdoor, the kitchen
into sun, agate, dark rum, fizzy mexican coca-cola
and north african oil with herbs at the bottom of wide
dolloped vases of warm glass,
beginning as teardrops
fallen now
i took the stories that made me
out of the scream of my arrival
the vinyl and chrome couch of 1977
in front of the six million dollar man
and the bad news bears
the girl, the mushroom, tiny, hiding
hooded thing that i was
touched i was, in the worst ways
eating tears, eating doughnuts,
eating anything that would fill me
into someone larger than i could imagine
into someone strong
into backbone and healer
into the visitor who would tell you
all about yourself and herself too into
this body without children
except the one i hold close between my breasts
that i screamed into making
scream from between the lips that suffered
from between the lips that would not speak
the lips tasted by the lips
that would taste hers
scream, scream, scream
now, these lips curved, plentiful
tell and tell and tell
they were told to shut up long ago
the voice box
the brown and red voice
box that came from two brown necks
and two before that
was called a white girl
an oreo
who you tryin' to be, anyway?
they told me the color of my voice
before i knew the language to fight back
they told me i wasn't one of them
far from who i thought i was
white girl
white girl
you tryin’ to be a white girl
but all i knew was my mother’s tongue
all i knew came from the alice in wonderland records
that taught me how to read
i tried to abandon
national geographics and dictionaries
pippi and the mysteries and the magazines
for a language that was more acceptable
my mother tongue was a tattoo that i modified
but never abandoned
i read aloud
listening to the nuances i’ve created
the resonance that burnishes the girl voice
with tobacco and time
rum and crying
into this voice you hear now
that sings when no one’s looking
to jesus and lovers i trust
i am looking below my knees now
and there are scars
i have decided
to turn the clusters and stripes
into constellations
i will have the scars
no, the stars make an order
something larger than me or my shins
into orion, zeus, mars and leo
take what shame tried to make
into your hands and turn it into something else
change your color
to your wish
into something new
something of your own making
perhaps you will be as proud as i
when a new friend remarks to your mother
you gave birth to imani?
no, she gave birth to herself.
