Two poems from Indigo Moor
Hummingbird’s Clothing
I am all wing and hollowed bone
strung together with frayed nerves.
No, I am not darting aimlessly—
my job, thankless, is to connect
your backyard’s invisible braille,
while tilting, drunk on scarlet nectar.
Lean close to hear my buzzing
revelation: I am an Anger God!
Praying for a brawl, a brother
to fly too close and reveal me:
King of the low-hung sky! Each
wingbeat jackhammers the day
into submission as the sweet breath
detonates on my savage tongue!
—Indigo Moor
Mississippi Barbecue
“Postcard #80” from Without Sanctuary exhibit
Sliced away and soaking
in jars, the sweet parts:
tongue
eyes
genitals saved
for luck and souvenirs.
The Negro ablaze, back
arched as if in ecstasy.
Having lingered
once too long
on a white woman’s face
he is reclined,
bullet-ridden, languid
on the blistering pyre.
Centered in the tableau
still life posed for
the cameraman’s steady eye.
Twice, the magnesium
flash sparks
through the dapper crowd:
two score fedora & bonnet
crowned heads
lean into sight line.
Swamp-rot
and bloodlust crawl
through the eyes.
Later, there’s potato
salad & sweet cold tea.
Soaked in blood, soaked
in piss, the hunting sack
crumpled into itself
at fire’s edge, smolders.
Rumor is the postcards
will be a dollar.
The body
now chalking toward pristine
is left to the children
lipless, its grin
crackling in tinder.
The sheriff’s
youngest boy
rattles a cane ’round
the ribcage ’til it caves
like a miner’s tomb.
A fiery halo
blossoms on the chin.
Bits of charred
flesh flake away
float lazily
on the night breeze.
Flame-struck and
spellbound,
the pastor
sucks absently
a rib bone, prays
the children understand
the need
for cleansing.
—for Kwame Dawes
—Indigo Moor