Nicole Shanté White: Another Goddamn Lesbian Movie
Martin David
Another Goddamn Lesbian Movie
because we are all white
housewives waiting to be
whisked finger flicked
from the chiseled lawyer
by a busty brunette
moans when she
kisses palms to neck
because we are all God’s
father’s hung neck
mother’s tears over Psalms
still white and you aren’t
praying for a plot twist
because we are all thigh
gap glistening young
trust fund because we are
all luring & lying & leaving &
cumming out of character
because we are all alive
because we are all Merlot
stumbling into sin falling
into phase still white
and you too are unraveling
because our lips quiver
when you seep because our
soft is prone to runneth over
a soundscape of soggy jazz
because we’ll need
something else to mop
after the credits
Fred Moten Writes Maybe Poetry is What Happens On the Bus Between Wanting and Having
you’re walking down
Ralph Ave fresh off
the C Beyoncé’s
Lemonade just
dropped & you’ve been
playing SORRY on repeat
channeling your inner
I-don’t-give-a-fuck
passing out perched
lips & head tilts
to the white people
who manage to make
even being a pedestrian
about power somebody’s
uncle is standing outside
the bodega mouthing
& air sketching something
unworthy of a volume
decrease you pass a group
of middle school kids hittin
the dab as they wait for
the B15 ahead you spot a
20something turn a brisk
walk into a jog you look
down when your Android’s
vibration delivers a text
from this shawty you’ll
be too nervous to kiss you
barely lift your head to
contemplate your next
witty response when
elbows sling around
your back your right ear
jack dangles at your navel
when the jogger’s hug
exhales and wait
your
name’s
not
Pearl?
you stand kissing distance
& still the jogger begs your
truth to spoil
you could play along
all cafeteria food is shitty
you i’m sorry finish your stroll
wondering what about you
made the jogger certain what
about Pearl made the 20something
the jogger you wonder if
anyone has ever lost your
face on a stranger
Public Housing
the voice has been vibrating the span of a dozen
presidents he knocks & repeats Can I get mah drank
Estle? /knock/ Can I get mah goddamn drank Estle?
I know you in dere cuz I heard ya talking on dat phone
a baby wails gasps with lungs that haven’t been boxing
for more than a month/knock/knock/knockknock/shattered
glass echoes through the hallway my breasts return
to mosquito bites my line of vision split between beaded
braids and Grammy’s wobbling legs dancing atop the glazed
tree trunk centered in the living room she is crying along
to Tired of Being Alone catches me swinging a side eye
at her glass of hickory shame I am every bitch muthafucka
still her curses timber like overdue apologies I rise from
the soiled sofa to rewind the VHS and uproot my sister
from her car seat Ma’s Saturday heels trail from the neighboring
diaper bag to the front door/knock/3B is stomping overhead
/knockknock/ my sister shrieking my voice has no time to compete
with the cigarette smoke or the looping ring of the house phone.
Nicole Shanté White hates wearing shoes, loves pancakes with crispy edges, and is still trying to figure out when a handshake is more appropriate than a hug. Instead of fulfilling her kindergarten dream of being the voice-over for read-a-long cassette tapes, she is using her BA in Poetry to excel as a full-time poet & teaching artist. Nicole currently resides in Brooklyn, where she enjoys eating dollar pizza and watching people fall asleep on the subway. She is a staff writer for Sula Collective and a 2016 Poets House Emerging Poet Fellow.
