Dana Tenille Weekes is a curious creature of voice and its relationship to everything human beings do or don't do, particularly what they’re afraid to say and why. For 20 years, she weaved the worlds of politics, policy, and law in Washington, DC as an advocate who mobilized voices in various forms. Currently, she is on a one-year journey of rest—learning how to unlearn and be—a space she yearns to cultivate for Black women, especially advocates, who are held up as “strong” at the sacrifice of themselves. As part of this journey of rest, Dana is exploring her newly found voice in poetry. Her first published poems, “Where Do We Bleed?” and “Found in Prayer,” have a home at A Gathering of the Tribes. Dana is the first in her family to be born in the United States and is the daughter of Bajan immigrants. Follow her on Instagram.
swole
by Dana Tenille Weekes
i am right here, on this damn couch. not knowing if even momma knows
whereabouts of my wherewithal—shelled out a month’s mortgage, for me
and it to be in the epicenter of this dammed, bayou-ing city. stench spoiling
the signature chocolate. whatever’s left. “pleasing,” the designer said.
“neutrals can anchor any room, any space.” yeah? complicit crap. but then
again, here i am. anchored to the anchor … on repeat & repeat & repeat &
these commentators. binge-watching daddy. and my cousins i speak to
barely. one’s in canada, though. and the big brother i blew out trick candles
for year after year. and my godsons. one just born. the other is seven. eight?
and their dad, his dad, and brothers too. and the back-in-the-day beat
boxing boys rapping ‘bout my big ass lips and double-stuffed oreo. and
my homies i randomly text “i love you”—cause their joy is …
and the boyfriend who stuck his tongue in me first. and the others. even
the assholes. and my favorite teacher, mr. james. he’s retired now. and the
mailman sloshing in these bogs. and the concierge collecting his coins for
that puppy for his princess. a saint charles? and mo, vernon, keron, preston
et al. at the firm playing clark kents to most—luke cages to me. and my
partner and my son if i had a … on repeat & repeat & repeat & repeat &
my ass is swole. anchored to these cushions. and it swoles and swoles and
swoles. sttrrreeeettttttcccccchhhhhhh marked. grade 8 USDA branding,
patriotic tatting. my heart too has plummeted into these swoles. this point,
a bastion. or basin? either way, seems glacierized. but this is the dead
of summer. so, no ice. no calving mountains. just swole ass. costco-ed
cocoa-ed syrup, ssslluuurrrrppppp—momma’s sharded notes on repeat &
momma! but momma … just—just let me. just let—just—just let me
awaken to babbles and coos again. let these babbles stretch for me—
lapsing at my feet. taking me to daddy kissing my wetted cheeks in
thousands. taking me to momma knowing. her hands scooping me up
underneath her humming chin of high apple pie hopes far up in the
ssskkkkkyyyyyyyyyyyyy on repeat & repeat &
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Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats.
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