Featured Poem – A Cornered Gurl

Featured Poem of the Week

12/20/202012/20/2020trE

Florence Wanjiku is an exceptional writer with a voice that cannot be matched. She is purposeful in her presentation with her work and she is also rather explicit with details. When she emailed me finally (we’d talked previously about her being a writer for A Cornered Gurl) to say she was ready to jump aboard, I had to hide my insane amount of giddiness. I mean, truth be told, I’ve got a writer’s crush on her words, so I am happy to host them in ACG. Florence’s debut piece, “A black woman’s body” (is vogue) is killing it on Medium and I am sure it’ll do the same here as well. So, without further ado, Ms. Wanjiku, everyone . . .

A black woman’s body

is vogue

They manufacture parts
of a black woman’s body.
Place her under knife and chain
and watch how naturally anesthetic she is.

A dose of her melanin eludes pain, suffering,
and loss

The attraction to her otherness
has always been so intoxicating
Her soil forms the earth
making mountains, deserts
and streams places in which her
body has traveled
or being left to dry when she can’t
ward off bees for wanting to colonize
and steal her nectar.

Her body will put women under knife and pain
just to look like her

Her lips didn’t always seem so appealing
but of late they make billionaires out of lip kits

Her skin didn’t always seem so appealing
but of late makes economies
out of spray tans and tanning salons.

Her body has been hated, paraded, used and abused
It was once used to justify why black women
don’t make Vogue
but now, they are Instyle,
they are the Covergirl.

Now, they manufacture parts of a black woman’s
body and place them as crowns on others.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Featured Poem of the Week

12/09/202012/16/2020trE

Erica Hu is a lovely poet who presents in-depth storytelling, vivid imagery, and bold phrasing in her work. I have been reading her for quite some time on Medium and was excited to receive an email from her to become a part of the A Cornered Gurl team. She graced us with an awesome debut poem in October, however, this poem below is the one I want to feature. The tone of it is inviting and is a reflection of the author speaking of her grandfather. In short, it’ll pull at your heartstrings. And now, the featured poem, Old Radio.

Old Radio

for my yéyé (grandpa)

“When the old radio stopped working,
no one knew what to do.”

“And that’s okay,” he says,
“with half a pint of whisky,
I can be on my way.”

Wrinkles on his hand
grow like wild ivy on brownstone.
So at the age of eight,
I started practicing farewell.
Fearing the loss of recognition,
I take pictures of his green vest,
tai-chi shirt,
birthday cakes,

praying
he stays the same.

But now,
on the westward train,
I’ve lost my mind
thinking about returning
to a place with light
but no truth

and how time is an open wound
that neither festers nor heals.

“It’s not that bad,”
he says,
“after I close my eyes,
at least,
for the first time,
there’s no need to worry about dinner tomorrow.”

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Featured Poem of the Week

05/06/202005/13/2020trE

Deb Ewing landed on Medium this past month and she has been lighting the platform up ever since! When she reached out to me to become a writer for A Cornered Gurl, I was beside myself with glee for I had been following her on Twitter. When I say this woman is a fireball, trust & believe she is that. Her writing shows no fear: it is raw and intense. I want nothing more than to read her writing over and over again. I am glad I get to be one of her editors.

The piece that lands her the feature for this week is her second contribution to ACG and it is aptly titled, “hate speech.” Not only is she an incredible writer, but she is also a visual artist. The artwork you see accompanying her poem is hers. You will not be disappointed. I guarantee it.

hate speech

you don’t see the cavity right away

you don’t see the cavity
right away

it slips between etiquette
and camaraderie
testing the atmosphere

where allowed, it swells
into a sandwich, eaten
by those craving sustenance

but the comfort of bread
only soaks up the serum
leaking out from what
might have been
meat

it crawls up the gullet
takes a life of its own
proclaims smiling

You Let This Happen

and you did.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Featured Poem of the Week

03/01/202003/08/2020trE

Abdullah I. Shawaf emailed me recently to be added to A Cornered Gurl. I had read a few pieces of his via Medium and enjoyed each of them. To receive that email, struck a chord in me, one that was happy to be awakened. His first contribution to ACG is a heartfelt piece personifying love and how love would react if we as humans asked it how it truly felt about its role in life–about its role as something we chase, yet handle so carelessly at times. I was happy to receive this piece in the ACG queue, review it, edit only a few areas, and get it published. I am honored to share this poetry-prose piece and Abdullah I. Shawaf with each of you.

When We Asked Love, Who Are You and Where Do You Exist?

As he was eager to be asked, he told us about the place where everything seems darkened and hopeless.

The greatest combat in history happened between love and hatred in a neutral heart — when both of the armies held a sign: “A winner takes what he puts his hands on, and the loser loses his right to vote.”

There we asked Love, one of the survivors, who are you?
And as he was eager to be asked, he answered:

I’m a flower shining in the dark, trying to forget that flowers need light to survive.

I’m a leashed power that stayed on the war line for a complete life, willing to change but not having the green light.

I am the survivor of the cold war, where survivors tell the story before they are gone.

Where soldiers’ powers are made of life events, and their colors are either darkened or blank.

Where the two sides fighting who will be the part who takes over and drives.

And from there, the events were to decide whether the heart leans to the good or the bad side.

Then I realized that no one controls his life, as his events shaped his mind.

No one was born violent, but what changed him is his environment.

I’m convinced the first call to racism was a joke that made everyone laugh, but the victim, he cried and got more soldiers on the hatred side.

He was upset by how people throw their words like daggers, and they don’t care about how much it hurts. And soon, racism was no longer a joke; it became a thought.

But one thing is sure; no one completely changes.

No matter how much hatred is there, there will be love somewhere.

You will find love in the strangest places where you never expected, it exists there.

It’s hidden, deep and covered under the ashes, waiting for the chance to be unleashed.

And soon it will be.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Featured Poem of the Week

01/26/202002/02/2020trE

Sylph Hemery contacted me recently to be added to A Cornered Gurl and I reviewed her profile, read some emotional and relatable pieces and knew she’d be a great addition to our community. Below is her first contribution. I connected with it upon the first read. Here’s hoping you will too.