Three Poems

Perpetual Motion Machine

1. In the midst of the turmoil                                               today is our day of rest (Monday.

Todo.)

2. They offer me. peace?                                                       Scrub the toilets and the showers

3. At whose expense?                                                            Ignore the menstrual pain

4. As if adding a day to a calendar changes much of anything                               It should have

5. It’s a sweet gesture for what it’s worth but that’s not much                        gone away by now

6. What would I even do with free time if I had it                                                                  right?

7. Besides mending the headache that’s camped inside my cranium for over a year                  

                                                                                                                                         God      

                                                                                                                                                  I wish

Or seeing a doctor to find a root cause for my womb’s decision to turn into a coffin

                                                                                                                                         God.

8. If only I could afford to take the day off                                              I could afford painkillers.

This day of rest might actually mean something to me.                          If only I could breathe

The reality is: you already need a certain amount of privilege for taking time to tend to your overworked body and mind to be an option                                   Without fear of death deadlines

                                                                              The truth is

9. The more it hurts the less we can afford to deal with it

The wearier our bones the less we’re allowed to tend to them                     And the paychecks

The closer we are to running ourselves ragged the more we have to keep fagging to keep from thirsting to death

Drinking birds pecking the water and drowning in necessities   

                                                                                                                      That never come.

God, I wish I could rest in peace.

10. Why is the black body a perpetual motion machine?

Checking Out Early

If I had to check out this early

I would have liked to die young and beautiful

Like a heroine from a movie

Instead of just young

With a womb that smells like a corpse

And a body that feels like one


Hell in my Womb (Hembras Ardientes)

No naci nada

                       I can’t-

Molten magma

Pinned by twisted reality

Tangled in the sweaty sheets

                                                Como la gravedad

I lay writhing on the floor                 Quiet with agony     

Hell is in my womb.

And the suffering-        

                               for what purpose?

Ahogada por el fuego y el rocío

The sweetness all aflame                           I receive no bundle of joy

                   Pillars of life cave in        torre de dominos

and pin me beneath their ruins

I vomit into the same sink that holds me upright

                                                                                 Rather than shattering against the tile

Lo siento

No puedo evitarlo

                                   Como es la vida

And how it must be-

Me esposa a la suffrimente

Ser mujer y esposa

                           I’m waterboarded beneath the pressure

And           fire on the inside              

                                                Mortal lava

Pours from this fragile vessel that I am

Fight it or not

And I have no strength left

Hembras ardientes

Mi cuerpo hay un infierno

I suffocate

Weeping              steaming tears

Fire in my throat

Que es la feminidad

But this bitter water in my mouth               choking on femininity

Perhaps I’m being punished   or maybe

Todas estamos malditas

And to be female is to burn

RED

             Hembras ardientes                            

Burning embers

                               I bleed fire

Leyelle MG

Leyelle MG is an African American and Dominican author and artist from Maryland, USA, raised in part in her ancestral home of the Dominican Republic. Author of the Turnill prize-winning short story, Rain Dance, and the novel, Damsel in the Red Dress, she’s passionate about telling a story, in any form or medium needed to express the beauty and complexity of life and human emotions.