my father was most memorable as he stood in sun.
when summer grew loud & boastful, his chain held
onto the light the same as his skin & the thin border
between the metal & the brown would vanish, the chain
disappearing into his chest. as he was the father &
as i was the son, he gathered the bits of stone & metal
he had left & pressed them together with some quick
& torrid heat & pulled forth a smaller string
of jewelry & he opened wide the new chain’s mouth
& let my head glide through so its lips were strung
along my shoulders & too often have i seen some niggas
put themselves inside the mouth of a divine & unseen animal.
there is nothing like a glow along your body to bring attention
to where you are most vulnerable, the ways the heart
or the neck may lead to your undoing & i think my father knew
this & blessed me nonetheless, an anointing in the silk folds
of a moonless night & on the night my father died
he covered his body in olive oil before drifting
into a far away & unforgiving sleep & they found him like this
in his bed with the oil lined along the curve of his stomach
like it would often line the fingers of a grandmother
before she said a prayer over a child’s warm forehead.
& so my father died slick & with favor, leaving the world
the same way i imagine he entered. my father,
a glorious & polished thing. a fortune at heaven’s gates.
nothing hanging from his body but the thin thread of light
hanging from his neck. & look! —see? (the chain, the sunlight,
the heat’s long grin across our skin) it’s all related, friends.
sweat & touch & each one of our cravings. let me never forget
what i am even when i am not. body of tungsten, body of
summer. i’m a jewel, a perfect relic. my color is gold.
niggas in the sun
Did you enjoy the the artible “niggas in the sun” from b ferguson on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply