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Obama 3 and Other Poems

By Mawiyah Kai EL-Jamah Bomani

 

 

Obama 3

my mama points to the television set

don’t obama what’s his face

look like what’s his name

use to stay round the corner from your grandmama’s sister

that boy use to say whatever you wanted to hear      remember that

lies so dry and full of disaster he couldn’t stop licking his lips

talking out the asshole and through the nose

but none of it was worth repeating     back in no thinking man’s ear

less you wanted to barter a  good grin for a smoke

or a cheap bottle of alley water

*   *   *   *   *

 

hirschsprung’s disease

harold hirschsprung’s has never formally

introduced himself

but my son was given to him

shrouded in black death

fifteen doctors storm my room

a tornado of book learned surgeons

and would be pediatricians

gods of medical salvation

death is inevitable they whisper

passing on and on his final rites

eulogies discarded along with distended tissue

go die anthems sung into clipboards and latex gloves

stethescopic processions           men/women eyeing with pavilion delight

the living dead/myson

the would be cadaver/myson

doctors refute my ears

and name him bones

travel ye down into the valley

they leave in morbid hospital silence

only to wade through water

that has reclaimed it’s fortune as mother’s milk

soaking ritual robes

above knees

*   *   *   *   *

 

Almost White

me and my cousins went down to the movie theatre                   passing

sitting in the white sections not high in the rafters with the ink spots

the movies was mandingo

and all I remember was how they boiled that blue black iridescent man in oil

and wouldn’t you know it                      I wet my pants cause of how fine he was

Marjorie had to instruct me on how he wasn’t my type under no circumstance

and when all the white folks got up and cheered\that he was finally dead

I wiped tears of lust from my seat with Marjorie’s handkerchief

and screamed               that’s right die nigger                 die

we don’t want nothing to do with you    this is our country

America           for Americans

Marjorie whispered if only we could round all them soot bellies up

like a herd of cattle and drop them into one grotesque cauldron of lard

boil them until the meat turn to gelatin foaming at the bottom of the pot                if only

then go off and bury the bones in potters  field                      one massive home-going

just imagine       white folks would have to give us our due

accept that we is as white as them

no more in between     no more white niggers

we’d all be indivisible under god and man

*   *   *   *   *

 

cornrow rebellion

ragged edges are the matted sagas

of slaved men

crucified like Jesus

unholy is the water that washed the scalp and underbelly

of human crops

along came the hair to curse HIS STORY

learn to braid my daughters

learn to decipher riddles

*   *   *   *   *

 

 

 

 

 

updated 22 October 2007

 

 
 

Mawiyah Kai EL-Jamah Bomani is a mother/wife/writer/educator founding member of NOMMO Literary Society and native New-Orleanian whose words have appeared in: The Crab Orchard Review, Dark Eros, Catch The Fire, Freeform Magazine, Beyond The Frontier, Kente Cloth, Fertile Ground, Survival Digest Quarterly and From A Bend In The. She is co-writer-and director of the play Brown Blood Black Womb. She is also co-author of the forthcoming Thicker Than Water Poetry anthology.  

 

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