Three Poems

Poetry
Marchell Dyon


Photo credit: Neil Moralee/Flickr (CC-by-nc-nd)

Black Women Sing Too Of Cages

We too howl against the rattle of time
We too rage our tattered wings against the bars
We see the length of years stretch before you
We see the gray math twinkling in
Only inches of sun

We too have spilled tears of rage
Until the tears that burned us cools our sweat
We know of thoughts of suicide, a rainbow engulfed
We live a life of high potential wasted

Yes!
We know the choices of no choice
We understand the self-pity and self-denial
We wish for the magic to rise out
From under despair

You tell us to wait with our chins up
You tell us you’ll be home soon
You tell us stories, and you spin your yarn
You ask us to hold on to air

We let you fill our heads with dreams
Still, we work
Alone we raise your children
We stand on blisters

Waiting… waiting… waiting…

In anger, you say women have it easy
You say girls don’t struggle, growing up isn’t hard
Remember now, whose left with the responsibility

When you decide to slang or pick up the gun
Try being women raising
Our children on a minimum wage

Try being blamed for everything as the day is long
Try having to explain your prison term to our son

 

A Black Woman’s Thunder Song

I am the red bird striking
The sky with lightning
My wings bellow like tornadoes

My words are powerful
My words can blow down your house
From my words there’s no shelter

That can prevent me entry
Boom, boom, boom,
I rock your complacency

Re-cord me
My words have a different meaning
Played backwards

My words are never at peace
There is always another war
Another march to rally for

Even if you pretend you don’t have ears
You hear me
You see me

I paint myself red
Even if you count to ten
The flash bomb of my words will blind your eyes

As thunder split the heavens
Rest assured my voice will make its mark
So, shut yourself in and pretend

With your heads in the clouds
Till the storm rolls and awake you
With the sounds

I will not sit silently at society’s
Fruitless table
I will shout my right to order

To make myself heard,
Never will my voice be disabled
Never will I be the dark girl seated but, in the corner,

My stride with lightning will light places
My electric footprints will fill the air
Like thunderstorms my voice leaves traces

My echoes you will remember
I was there and I shook the bars
I was a contender

 

Black Woman, Cool Down

When my anger flares
Is it my blood pressure you wish to ensnare?
See the ice defrost from my lips

See it hone my vocabulary to something sweet
I claim each new moment like a pearl
Found and dived for under an ocean of pain

I hold my breath, I swim
Through the muck like I have gills
I refresh myself by sheer will

I often smooth the conversation
With nothing more to say I leave the room
In the air is the scent of flowers

I remain cool for a few hours
Not that I’m always a hot head
Brimstone
A flint attitude of fire

I just like to sleep well
When I retire
Not that I have joined your point of view
Being that angry black woman all the time
Babe, I have better things to do

pencil

Marchell Dyon is a poetry enthusiast. She enjoys reading poetry wherever she can find it. Once she was nominated for the Best of the Net prize for her poem “As I Stand by My Window Dreaming of Falling.” Her most recent publications are Toasted Cheese and Medusa’s Kitchen. She has taken many poetry workshops; her education and thirst to improve her craft have constantly developed, despite having both schizophrenia and bipolar disorders. She continues to live and write in Chicago. Email: marchelldyon[at]yahoo.com

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