Peeling
here i stand
peeling
layers of skin.
reticent faces
fold beneath my blade,
silence pruning
my fingertips to wrinkles.
acrid fog
taps open my nose,
burrows beneath my eyelids, surges down my throat,
tickles the tender rings,
brims at my lips.
tears
and my gaze pools
at the hollow chair
on my grandfather’s dining table. mahogany heirloom of war
the knife is sharp.
pungency stings
like vengeance
etching him into my face.
Softly, it chokes,
flooding from inside.
Peeled
bits and pieces
burning,
sienna,
soggy as sore eyes.
you stick to my tongue,
astringent,
like his name.
it stings
it bleeds
when momma
calls me by it.
tugs at my umbilical cord
until i am child again
bare feet racing
through her father’s garden
our footprints
big and little.
the aroma crawls
out the cracked window
gesturing us home.
guka’s food warms a smile,
giant peals of laughter. the
sun peeks,
round as his belly,
untucks his shirt,
full as a child’s heart.
Peeling
everything survives
or surely dies
trying.
James Joy is a non-binary Pan-African poet. They graduated from Duke University with a BA in International Comparative Studies and Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies, with a minor in African and African American Studies.Their multidisciplinary work connects the legacies of history in the present. James Joy’s writing has been featured in Black Youth Project and Migrant Roots Media with work forthcoming in Kalahari Review, among others. Outside of writing, James Joy enjoys museums, Black cinema, jazz, and reading magazines. Feel free to contact them on their website.
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