#AllThingsPOETRY: Jessica Care moore

Heroin

You were born writing little girl
but you will learn to wait
the lines will appear as currents
events to fool you into submission
the grocery store
the post office
the unemployment line
the local train platform at two in the morning
this is where you will find poetry
screaming between the air inside your walk
this is how you'll learn to kiss and paint
nurse babies and call "next!"
on the ball court
your name will be one african syllable too many
for jane who didn't do her lower case b
phoenix assignment
pretending that she just can't pronounce Kenya or Brendesha
with america's alphabet
this is the moment you find meaning in cuss words
you will take cuts attempting to find the front line
your scent will leave hunters running in the wrong direction
as your home becomes brick your bones become thick
clocks will confuse the moon into thinking
dark is a synonym for gloom
you will stay still as your body leaves the room
for the first time in weeks
strength will appear from behind the sun
they will call you a freak and you will believe them
you were born writing and will soon learn to run

we are born writing
but will learn to wait
the wind will pause our dreams
lies suddenly sound like laughter
we will survive in here
or after
skeleton woman break dancing
into poses resembling roses
emulating an african nose
that never smelled ivory up close

this is when you will cry the most
learn to gather your tears into your fists
realizing water will never grant your wishes
reflections are always true but never wet
so we kiss ourselves
till our lips turn dry and honest

you will hear faint pieces of your voice
in the electricity of a phone line
screaming for freedom
in the middle of a message or a voyage
never delivered during long distance
conversations or kidnappings
this is the moment your fingers
will find your hand
and hang up on your past beliefs
what is a white courtesy phone?
Why can't I ever find one?

the lines will appear as a sound waving
good bye
when you jump off the side of the ship
in the footsteps of the march of tears
funeral processions will break into the hustle
digging up murdered soil
that forgot this was a man's world
and daddy needs a son baby
everybody will wear black
forgetting this is your damn birth day party
There was a time we didn't have to wait
nine months for our children to be born
we just believed they would come
and waited for them to quickly leave
i'll take the young pretty one
with the chiseled brown lips
for 5 axes 3 pigs 2 arrows 1 chicken and a bushel of wire
this is when you'll carve your first pencil from wood
and draw blood
this is when your story is erased
I was born writing
but will be taught to wait
I am an incomplete sentence
a work in progress
and i'm not finished
yet

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