MAMA WANTS HER BABY BACK: DUPLEX
Mama wants her baby back.
Baby does not know how to be wanted.
Baby knows how to want.
Mama does not know how to have.
Mama does know how to be wanted.
Men want Mama and Baby.
Men want Mama and Baby in the same way.
Baby does not know how to be wanted by men yet.
Baby does know how being wanted by men shames you.
Shame is want without love.
Love don’t know baby without shame.
Mama only knows how to shame.
Mama only shames what she don’t know how to love.
Mama wants to love her baby back.
If/Then/Ophidian
If snakes see in heat, then why does your heart not hide you when one slithers across damp, sharp tile?
If sulfur burns their bellies, then why does the smell of lye, from undoing the kink of this body, not stop him from coiling around your ankles?
If Satan is a serpent, then surely this man who tries to undo you in the gym bathroom is him.
If you say you hate him, then you remember it is not the man with the split tongue but the boy who left you untethered/unbound/un-belonging/unattended goose egg to be picked off by ophidians.
If he waits for a no but does not care, then you think, What the fuck?
If the pleasure hypnotizes you, then you know vipers sway with sharp tunes.
If slit pupils chase you, gliding back and forth, lean back, revealing a white underbelly, flaying the skin on a napped neck, then you remember he wants to look bigger than you.
If you remember you have arms, then hiss your no in a language he understands,
touch.
If you thought feeling wanted kept you alive, then you remember how prey never wants to be seen.
If you wish, you could reach down his throat and pull back the whole of what he is ingesting; then, has he eaten you?
If you retreat to the showers, cursing the god who made you, then you remember you are a species that leaves its fragile things on forest floors.
If the belly’s darkness brings you next to the boy who now spends his nights in back rooms of lightless parties with gapping mouths begging, then whose tongue eclipses four years spent building a life?
If you can bear it just enough, then maybe you could grab his hand, and he’d be home.
If he is safe inside the quiver you weep in, then he must have scales, too.
If you still love him, you will remake yourself a pungi, then leave shower curtains open again; become a tune that calls them from wicker baskets.
If being desired reminds you of how he would not, and you miss him still, then being swallowed is your only choice.
DOMINIC ANTHONY is a Black, queer poet with roots in Missouri and Arkansas. They learned the power of words through their grandmother who often said, “you have to be able to name a demon to cast them out”. Here, in the Black southern tradition of prayer, truth-telling, and conjure, is where their poetry is rooted. They attempt to name and bring to light the most human experiences in order to liberate themselves and the reader. You can read their work in publications such as Bible Belt Queers, Flava: Juneteenth Zine, and Beyond Queer Words: Queer Anthology.
LESLIE BROWN grew up in Detroit and now lives in a Washington, D.C. suburb. She has a MFA in Creative Writing from American University. Her visual publications include Phoebe Literary Journal, Beyond Words, Scapegoat Review, Quibble Lit, and Burningword Literary Journal. She has done cover art for Consequence Magazine, ZO, NBR: World Tour, The Ear.
