Jewelle Gomez
More than two decades after
your leaving I still think of you
as a diamond emerging
from the compression of carbon,
shining and sharp
both dark and light.
It’s a stone that has come to mean
both delight and death
making it difficult to enjoy
the gift from the earth.
It’s not possible to see the
gleam adorning soft skin
without thinking of sweat
glistening on black backs scarred
for someone else’s pleasure.
Apartheid and murder cling
to the stones as
tightly as a necklace.
Yet, it is a transubstantiation of sorts,
more important than that of myth.
Earth’s fiber wrapped tightly
around itself—friction and time
until it shines
like a sun.
So too are words—simply letters
and sounds draped and packaged
around each other to emerge
unexpectedly with meaning
far beyond their size
or taste in the mouth.
Your words are those diamonds
from the earth. You are the
one who toiled, sweat and shaped;
gifting them, wrapped in a prayer–
a plea that you’ll be heard.
You aim each like a scented spear
meant to pry me open;
make my earth fertile enough
to grow more words
diamond bright
diamond hard,
sweat drenched light
through a desperate time.