I Bury Her Alive
I like dolls that don purple-pool-dipped lips,
Dark berry black skin, grape jelly; juicy
Juice shoes. I choose Pretty Princess, snatch and
Plait her dark blonde-brown hair. I have Yasmin
In tube-tops, saffron and salmon, saddling
Up a mismatch Barbie horse, hushed, hunched for
A fake picture. She sunbathes in salfate
Furs because she can. She holds rose petal
Purses, short-shorts, tells men no, gets away
With it. She can’t taste bit-tongue blood, feel pain,
Hear anything. She puts on Ken’s clothes and
Kills it, each night. I bury her alive
Alongside my secret thoughts, of I think
There are women—I would love—to turn into.
When my Medicine Goes Up by Twenty
I don’t want Harriet on the dollar
bills she should as she does conduct the heat—
electricity sounds of surplus loose
humans stealing the state from the statesmen—
crowing coups’ claim for how keep her black as
the intersection the plantation black
as drugged juniors seventy slaves the maimed
brains from the Fugitive Slave Act the aimed whips
on behalf of Benjamin George Joseph—
Paul and James town Virginia what will quell
the conquest of discharge will free the slaves
from battling being eaten these inmates
will only have Harriet to blame when
they are released with her as all they own—
at their beck and call while private prison
possessors slaving away picking plants
here and there for people to work for free
will hold boast trade with other white palms psalms
again absent freedom again absent—
with Harriet and the struggle for life
will be assigned to Harriet and the
instants of strife will be Harriet and
the drugged juniors will be Harriet and
she will become shape exchange change chase—
again absent freedom again absent
Prince A. Bush is a bookish, black, non-binary (feminine-of-center—they/them/he/him), leftist, feminist, and gay poet. He attends Fisk University in Nashville, TN, as a graduating senior (!!!!!).
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