The Boys I Knew
By RaShell R. Smith-Spears
Smiling brown boys visit me.
They dance and posture
in the iridescent light
of my nostalgia.
They are bright and bold.
They tell jokes that are meant
for older boys.
They are fresh.
Mannish.
They call me “Baby” and “Boo” and “Shorty”
and I don’t mind.
They reach with wiry young arms
that pull me close.
I can smell their promise
as thick as the musk
of new manhood.
They have names like
Richard, Robert and Darrell
Michael, Marquesa and Shelby.
They come when I least expect it
and leave far too soon.
I look into their faces for prophecies
of the men I know them as now.
The world will try to remake them,
erase them, but now
I see nothing but Hope grinning
back at me.
I ask them to stay
but they leave
me smiling.
Their visits always
make me feel like a girl.
By RaShell R. Smith-Spears
Smiling brown boys visit me.
They dance and posture
in the iridescent light
of my nostalgia.
They are bright and bold.
They tell jokes that are meant
for older boys.
They are fresh.
Mannish.
They call me “Baby” and “Boo” and “Shorty”
and I don’t mind.
They reach with wiry young arms
that pull me close.
I can smell their promise
as thick as the musk
of new manhood.
They have names like
Richard, Robert and Darrell
Michael, Marquesa and Shelby.
They come when I least expect it
and leave far too soon.
I look into their faces for prophecies
of the men I know them as now.
The world will try to remake them,
erase them, but now
I see nothing but Hope grinning
back at me.
I ask them to stay
but they leave
me smiling.
Their visits always
make me feel like a girl.
|
|