Tag: caribbean writers

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Stateless

The sun has long set over this cursed land
Don’t call me an American
That blood-soaked flag never bore me any semblance of safety
Felt the red-hot resentment of every white officer I’ve come across
Barrel down the back of my neck, since my very first “routine” traffic stop
Don’t call me an American
I shut my eyes and see bombs bursting, reducing centuries old sites to rubble
Libraries, hospitals, temples decimated in an instant
I hear the mournful screams of children snatched straight from their mothers’ arms
And nothing but pure lies spewed about the air waves
Don’t call me an American
I reject the status, this nation’s founding fathers never intended it for me anyhow
May have been born of this soil, but this soil was never of my blood
My presence here, merely a misstep by my predecessors
Convinced to leave sparkling beaches and unspoiled waters behind for the gossamer promise of opportunity
How could they have known they were being duped?
I’ll admit, the grift used to be good
But I’ve never been an American
Unsold on commodifying art
Unsullied by the greed of endless competition
Unmoored from standards of decency crafted by amoral autocrats
Don’t call me an American

(Sacramento, CA – April 2026)

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Like Rain

(Crocker Art Museum – Sacramento, CA –
October 2025)

I can’t live in your daydreams
there are still half-read books and half-drunk cups of coffee lingering on my shelves
unedited manuscripts begging for attention under piles of mail I promised I would open
research ideas that haven’t quite been fleshed out enough
I can’t subsist on praise and sacrifice alone
Need the warm sun, a cool breeze, and an ocean view to nourish my aching soul
I can’t live in your daydreams but I can be a featured player in your fantasies
Call on me when the well runs dry
I’ll be there to flood your fields

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Blan/Lò

(Église Saint-Merri, Paris, France – April 2023)

Gadé mwen,
all decked out in white and gold like
I’m the second coming.
dripping venom instead of holy water.
wouldn’t mind the suburbs, if not
for the new age bros and vapid white feminists,
who have the gall to assume they’re part of the solution.

ki sa pwòblenm mwen?
thought you could talk down to me in perpetuity,
‘til I obliterated your ego with my doc marten boot.
we were never really friends, just friendly.
can’t feign austerity for your comfort any longer.
shower me in your hyperbolic platitudes,
wild, brash, dehumanizing for drawing boundaries – I’ll embrace it.
rather that than live sad, frigid, and fraught with fear.

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do you love me?

(Pacifica Esplanade Beach, CA – December 2023)

est-ce que tu m’aimes?

tongue dripping with silver,

kisses all over your body like Paris rain in the afternoon.

est-ce que tu m’aimes?

touch like the summer – wet, hot, unrelenting,

and enrapturing you all at once,

until every inch of you is soaked in sweat.

est-ce que je suis le diable?

peut-être, peut-être pas

est-ce que tu m’aimes, encore?

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Je me suis trouvé

pas besoin de raconter l’histoire,
je sais précisément qui je suis et où j’ai commis une erreur.
feuilletant Dostoïevski, allongé au soleil,
fumeur au Young Dolph, l’herbe fraîchement coupée effleurant mes coudes nus.
descendant dégénéré, dissident et perdu de vue de Ramsès II, bien que très loin des villes scintillantes de l’Égypte antique.

pas besoin de rejouer vos souvenirs,
je sais exactement où je suis allé et où j’en suis,
aucune indiscrétion passée ne me fait honte, aucune menace de mal de la part d’un homme ne me met en échec,
aucune chaînes d’entreprise pas m’apprivoiser.
ma voix est forte et claire comme le bruit des vagues qui s’écrasent sur le rivage,
Je suis un enfant de l’été, élevé dans la nature.

Je me suis perdu une fois,
mais maintenant…

Continue reading “Je me suis trouvé”