dear black hole. (a baptismal monologue)

Ronald Taylor
Jan 1, 2017
2 min read

this is section one of this piece. the motivation was from the pain a black man feels in the spaces he must move in, when those same spaces are not designed for him.

dear black hole.

i miss you like grandma's cooking.

like those sweet potato pies she used to leave,

out on the dining room table; round easter.

used to have me running saying, "praise the lord - he is risen."

like scabs on a third graders arm, from playing round too much on peninsula blvd, farmers,

merrick, and linden.

who were you when you came in?

sat down.

hunched.

slowly.

dear black hole.

used to take cruises on on plush floats,

round our living room -

barely leaving living room, for

your kin.

neglecting the embrace of,

a black woman's love sin.

dear black hole, who were you when -

you came in?

dear black hole,

do you still hear my heart?

like the time you called me a faggot.

when i tried to tell you, that a man, had,

touched me.

yes, a man touched me.

your red haired friend,

your cousin my kin

f***ed me.

3 years,

3 hours,

and too many minutes inbetween.

sound funny don't it?

dear black hole,

do you understand your power?

you earth shaking, back breaking, world molding, oil spilling power?

dear black hole,

come closer.

i see you in me everyday and for some strange reason no degree of facial mud scrub can wash you away.

you are stuck in me.

trapped in me.

you are biologically me.

but the star you created has forgotten you,

shine so bright it haunts you.

like the lily white underwear stained red,

i tried to show you.

i gotta wash.

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