Untitled (Blues)
After Kara Walker’s “Blue,” 2020
Indigo pool, color of the wings
of the biggest specimen captured
in glass in my second room, that one
iridescent, incandescent, a word
I wish every nigga knew. Not too far
back, my shadow embraced me so long
I thought I was Narcissus, pulled
deep into my own blues, a muddy
masterpiece. Each day, we drink
from each other’s poison ponds, raw
dogging the breath between us.
This woman is no different. Look:
her gaze plunged into echo, mid-
night specter looking back, black.
Once, a hag tried to hold me down to do
god only knows, I pulled all the rabbits
out my hat, my grandmother rose
up in me. It’s actually easy to get caught
in a bruise, the dull ache of everything
over these past three years, the clock’s
swinging second hand still digging more graves.
Listen. At this point, we are ashamed as Adam,
running forlorn from the fields of Eden,
mesmerized by our own deep blue abyss.
Notes:
This poem is part of the portfolio “Kara Walker: Back of Hand.” View all artwork from the portfolio, including the one this poem is after, or read the rest of the portfolio in the April 2024 issue.
Source: Poetry (April 2024)