I didn’t know how much i loved my body,
spending countless years recoiled by soft rolls,
picking at fat
hiding my shoulders.
scratching out curved lines,
the bass of my bust, the bowl of hips
a cave indented with stories
thick red lines, black dots
a body of starry nights,
my skin when its blacker than
toasted brown sugar,
a raw deep cinnamon raisin
the sun baking red clay
skin, coming from mother,
browned like her beef stew,
I didn’t know i loved mint in lemonade,
the sight of limes in the kitchen sink and
in its rotations of milk and ash,
the sky’s quilt of tales.
I never knew how much i loved
the halt of new york city movement.
life caught on 68th.
the stars falling
the street lights flickering
casting triangles on the curtains
I forgotten how much i loved almond shaped heads
or the way the nose and chin
find space to fill
forgetting I loved the black man and
the books on his shoulders,
how he remains despite the burning shelves
turning into television.