Wicked Enchantment. Wanda Coleman
of beans and corn bread/nights
in the electronic arms of the tube
mean as a bear
carrying groceries home in the rain in shoes
twice resoled and feverish with flu
it is the early dawn
mocking her unfinished efforts; unpaid bills,
unanswered letters, unironed clothes
tracks
of pain in her face left by time; the fickle high of it
facing the mirror of black flesh
mean as mean can
pushed to the floor but max is not max enough
no power/out of control/anxiety
it is the sun illuminating cobwebs
that strips her of her haunted beauty; reveals
the hag at her desperate hour
children beware
Imagoes
1
| white birds do not eat them | (to get out |
| they taste bitter | or dry up |
| here in this | |
| drops from the air. blood | slag grey limbo) |
wings for casting spells
crisp thin splashes of color
ground up fine: juju
a lover will speak true
or
cocoons in his food
spirit of blood rush enters
there will be many babies
fat and cocoa happy
wings spread
against glass. wings. to be free
wings on night
wings against my face. my skin screams
white birds do not eat them
2
phobia
butterflies in the jar
the child imprisons them. watches
delights. colors. “they eat lettuce,” another
child smiles, “put holes in the lid so they can breathe”
in morning’s dew a burial
she puts the tiny winged things amid green leaves
3
moths/souls of the unhappy dead
(the dog chases them across the field
stunned by the mad beating of black wings, retreats)
4
inside my stomach flutter winged dreams
no future. baby ails. husband, eyes glazed high nods out
children in heat/puberty/poverty. they want
the walls stink. mildew. smudged dark dirty mirrors
bruised flesh. she bleeds. dissatisfied
vein/mouth opened up and spurting
5
in the dark room
i listen to him undress
pants drop to the floor
he pulls back the sheets his
cool touch my warm ready
his hands to my waist
inside i flower. he finds me. alights
his proboscis uncoils
deep into me
sucks up
6
against my face the flutter
what’s wrong
there’s something in here. flying around
it’s nothing
i hear it
go back to sleep
i’m afraid
keep still
i felt it come at me
a dream
no. something real
7
(who comes to the sleeper in midnight city skin)
cocaine lumin white it flits thru night
feathered antennae
cool air. caress the light/my body calls
pain on return
the steel cocoon
carries me down slick streets
on my way to the end of the line
the door open
my red skin
great great grandmama walks the trail of tears
the white powder
carries me down silk sheets
on my way to the end of the line
my nose open
tonight i dance dance of dead
my ancestors enter
my body spins/shock
transmuted
my brown skin
great granddad makes the oklahoma land rush
slave of city
i bow before the ashes
the cold black tar my skin sticks
each move agony
i can’t get out of it
fuck me. make it hurt
8
lost
heart valves the blood flow slows
eyes haunted eyes see beyond the veil
outside the window. let me in. i’m cold
my fists sore my blood cakes
the skin becomes translucent, glows
the heart brittle delicate easily shatters
desperate
it beats against the window. can’t let it in
it eats and leaves no bone
no history/memory of having been
*
white birds do not eat them
9
in my soul winged beings flutter
dead/transformed
my mouth open. moths take flight
The Saturday Afternoon Blues
can kill you
can fade your life away
friends are all out shopping
ain’t