by Cesar Love
Light cannot pass through me
I swallow every spark
I put out each candle I smother the streetlamp
I douse the lighthouse
The moon, the sun, and the day
Down they go in my distillery
Everything bright milled by my night
There I make them black like me
There I make them pure like me
When I am ready, I make the world sweet
Give me flour, I make gingerbread
Give me water, I become rum
Give me an audience, I become music
I am black molasses
I go the speed that I choose
They say I move slow, but really I move free
In this sugar, you meet freedom
In this, sugar, you become four-alarm cool
The bongo of minutes, the gong of the hours,
Simple flickers on the still of your soul
"Black Molasses" was previously published in Birthright by Cesar Love
© Cesar Love. All rights reserved.
Cheekbones
The handsome Native
His cheekbones are not chiseled
He is not made of granite
He is not made of marble
The handsome Native
His cheekbones are flesh and bone
They have felt hurricanes
They have met tornadoes
The handsome Native
His face fathoms all weather
He has withstood hatred
He has withstood other small winds
© Cesar Love. All rights reserved.
