I stepped on my mother’s back
& Earth cracked open flames
chewed the hills during drought
Black kids in Michigan sank
to the bottom of public pools
their bellies bulging with lead
God’s everlasting ire never stops
rolling moves in mysterious ways.
For example: some men have never
drowned in a real woman he climbed
inside me hunting for a fresh spring sighing
you don’t feel how I dreamed you feel.
On the El train a lady instructs me
to spit into my hands she thinks
my diseases will moisturize my
angry palm lines I’m still so heavy
in the mornings with plastic rings,
aluminum cans but I never stop running
over floating to the tops of cocktails.
In factories in the Valley engineers
replicate vulvae in molds eyeballs
swim in vats of wax mega-gallons
of water filtered in search of the
perfect shade of nipple. America,
make me impervious to death!
Wooden mouth. Piano wire thong.
Three love holes. Waterproof.
Jameka Williams is a MFA candidate at Northwestern University hailing from Greater Philadelphia. Her poems have been published in Prelude Magazine, Gigantic Sequins, Powder Keg Magazine, and Yemassee Journal. Muzzle Magazine has nominated her poem, “Yeezus’ Wife,” from their June 2017 issue for “Best of the Net 2017.” She resides in Chicago, IL.