When the Saints Go Marching They Bring Their Sisters
W.J. Lofton
How many scars can fall onto the backdrop
Of a black girl’s skin
Making her tough,
Walking with all that Big Bang in her chest
Expectations on zero gravity
After being let down
Again and again
I know more women who remind me of Tupac
Rather than the men sharing the same skin
And nose ring as him
My sister is a
Five
Foot
Four
Compendium on revolution
An alleyway for the homeless
A summer of Sunday mornings
She is Lauryn after The Fugees
Post-Beyoncé
When learning to black girl magic her
Lemons
Into lemonade
A Viola Davis type of sun ray
No fence has enough wood or wire to become her prison
My sister
Has dissolved sorrow
Birthed Kool-Aid smile in its wake
Shaken the earth with her prayers
Her spine be miracle
All those tears be wonder
How many stars dim to the light of her eye
Sky cracks its lips to laugh
Sun bows
Moonlight buckles its grace
When black girl swallows and owns the scars
That she never asked for
Black girl
Pops gum
Twists hair
Got degree
For her I would turn an army of goons into ghosts
Deadbeats into dust
Because she has loved her brother into panther, through pain
~~~~~
W.J. Lofton is the author of These Flowers Were Held by Broken Vases. Lofton studies political science at Troy University and currently is working in the Middle East. He hopes to create an open space conducive to dialogue addressing social injustice, education, sexual identity, and social constructs.