We Make Ourselves Confetti
Background of blustered whinnies:
The loveliest organ syncs strewn
The length of the house to seafoam;
Twenty eyes attempting incense & latex—
& always sniffing out more. The place
Is all asterisks on its one body, limbering
Like a hungry ant grinned-in 360
Having to carry only what it needs
As spikefruit, tightening the hand below.
Sand the interior with kisses, little purrs
Glitter the air & a tinny voice declares
It would not like to be rendered in lines.
The closest mouth reigns over all in neck’s
Reach, blood pulses to an easy victory &
Everything the inside of an orange peel soft.
In the pink light skin slips purple, slick
Salted haze. A woman tries to become
zinnia & you can’t quite focus so
I let a guy practice a shrine on me.
We might as well be a billion years from here
The way the body weighs nothing atop another
Black space; expands to its pleasure—
zakia henderson-brown is of starshine and clay lineage. She has received fellowships and scholarships from the Fine Arts Work Center, Callaloo Journal, and the Cave Canem Foundation. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in African American Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, North American Review, Vinyl, and others. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2013 by Beloit Poetry Journal and has completed residencies at the Vermont Studio Center and the Louis Armstrong House Museum. She serves as Associate Editor and Outreach Coordinator at The New Press and on the board of the Brooklyn Movement Center. She lives in her native Brooklyn with furball Onyx.