Jessica Care Moore, Detroit-based poet and publisher and CEO of Care Moore Press. Shown in the photograph as she performed September 21, 2013 with Toshi Reagon at Le Poisson Rouge in New York City. Poems featured here are from a new collection of her work.
it ain’t like we don’t
for Etta James. Haiku as Prayer
it ain’t like we don’t
like loving. we die for blues
cuz we born with it
it ain’t like we don’t
like loving. we die for blues
cuz we born with it
madness. the veil of
the mic. our voice flight
memories don’t lie
we die of broken
hearts. transparent art. they clap.
pretend to be smart
proof of existence.
feminine fossil for frauds
we cry. we birth. we
deliberate smile.
forced on our mouths. open.
history pours out.
it ain’t like we don’t
love candles. or ashes lit.
we the flame. smoking.
america holds
our hearts of royalty. owns
our essence. rebels.
music is not yours
to take. stone rolling. blues runs
deep in these thick veins
the beautiful ones
alone with the notes. dancing
inside a body.
spirit fills the void.
laughter measured. broke. holy
bread. we melt on tongues.
at last. rock & roll
gets on it’s knees. thanks mama
shall come first. they say.
it ain’t like we pray
to a different God. you know?
amen. ashe. peace.
wonder what they do
with our bones. build a shrine. queens
sleep in death. i guess.
our legs still shake. shed
off skin. borrow wind as breath.
lucy has daughters.
fatherless. but still
daddy meant the world. absence
makes art grow fonder.
blind is a blessing
when u got eyes everywhere
looking for your flaws.
etta, it’s sunday
as i write this. 12:09
kinda love. these tears.
it ain’t like we dream
of knights. in armor. shining
not since music. played.
at a wedding. stop.
pain inspires genius tongue.
i made that man. great.
know your place. brown girl
don’t sing that truth to loud. scream!
it through the speakers.
it ain’t like we don’t like
loving. we die for the blues.
cuz we born with it.
9
I was given the nickname jessi james while living in brooklyn. there was a debate over who gave it to me. they were two beautiful emcees “Black Stars” in the making. I was a Native Cadillac riding New York City trains. Poets want love. they want poems. they always want poems….
you want poems
when u are a woman
when u are brown
when u are brave
when u walk over glass like water
when u know your eyes are
borrowed like time.
when u peel off your skin
for the very first time
fear is never in style
in the mecca of the blue
fear never lives
in the gut of the new
you want poems
& i just want to build my home
you want poems
& i just want love in my hands
you want poems
& i’m not interested in fans
you love me inside my magic
& i just want u you to see
you already had it.
it is in the telling when someone asks
it is the way he holds the glass
licks the surface. examines without
touching.
is it the way our energy takes over rooms
it is the subtle conversation
it is the freedom of emancipated language
it is in the words scribbled inside my skin
it is the curve of the line. the beauty of the lie
stories passed down thru generations of
pain and pride
ocean and tide 10
water remembers water returns
african mermaids blending with dark sand
is is the danger of the dance
the upright heart of the bass
the dice roll drum experiment
the cymbal tease
the last laugh the addiction
to this moment.
where else do i put it
?
don’t know where to put it
place it. bury it. deep in my chest.
back of my throat. where shld i hide it.
on this stage. shld i give it to you.
here is my honesty. my work undressed.
legs stretched across piano.
traded like cattle. raped like animal.
left for dead. sucked dry for inspiration
in love with the idea of living long enough
to simply write about it. push it out my body
and watch my son slowly grow into it.
you said you wanted a poem.
now what are you gonna do with it.
?
huh
whitney
etta
abbey
billie
nina
phyllis
how much time you got?
i’m a body of clocks
i’m the master of mics
i’m the metaphor for survival
i am the gold they use to build their
churches
a beautiful idea to flirt with
but who shall i marry?
the moonlight
the sunrise
the white dove? the wolf?
an eastern wind?
this music?
a prayer
how many babies we gon make
inside a song?
which revolution which nation
shall we rule
the island of the spirit world
the beauty of the believers
the carpenters the men who
build the dream and place u
on the frontline of their planet
one day the stars will line up
between breath & ink & voice
some place between reality & choice
we give it all up
it is the danger of the dance
the upright bass of the heart
the dice roll drum experiment
the cymbal tease
the last laugh the addiction
to this moment.
the awkward beauty of beginnings.
the quake of the end.
poem before the end of the world
if the sky falls and cover us like an ocean
if the sun turns cold and light abandons our hearts
I wld wrap my arms around the space left behind
And know it was you.
what if i wrote a poem
pulled back from the corner
of your jazz/blues mouth. a book
i sometimes re-read
to remind me that real lives
make these stories
there is so much truth
in the softest places.
what if i believed there was
no such thing as dead
what is our commitment
what is written + what is said
how long do i have you for
maybe just till 4.
is that enough time
?
to make something revolutionary
is that enough time to change
the inevitable clock.
you. my book/mark
waiting for me to open
to the right page. the right moment
i lie my body down inside your favorite
lines of toni
remember every word/ you told me.
our kiss is the 14th line
somewhere there is snow & i’m
skating away on a joni river
there is a yes on the other side
of every no.
love used to be just ink on paper
we so sophisticated (now)
love used to be just ink on paper
we so unconventional (now)
we so old we new
we so old we new
we so old we knew
your eyes look like an ancestor
my spirit flew through
is this room through with you
?
i got something i’ve been
meaning to tell you
for 400 years.
ossie had ruby
malcolm had betty
king had coretta
& all we have is fear
and i just want a few seconds
to make a little history
with you.
take in a little mystery
with you.
i’m drinking red i’m laughing loud
i’m so broken i’m so flawless
i’m in the bed waiting for the earth
to call us.
crum/ba/lin..
i’m watching walls
fall down. around us. my stolen heart hidden
on a dusty shelf i love the
sound of suddenly being found.
this is my poem
before the end of the world
this is my poem inspired by
14
the children of bahia
the sunsets of soweto
here’s to brooklyn bridges
detroit love letters
& blacktop salvation
sidewalk chalk and liberation
names carved in trees
six degrees & hollywood dreams
this is a song
for lovers. this is a poem
you bury in your finest gear
when the sun is done.
when the sun is done.
when the southern sun is done.
when the moon is cold.
when music is the only thing
left to hold.
i will listen to your voice so old
what if i wrote you
my very last poem
what if this short hour just saved me
armageddon is for lovers baby.
when the sun is done
with us. when your smile is no
longer in a rush.
i’ll simply give what God gave me
to give.
& write more poems so we
can live.
live live
live live live
love.
–Jessica Care Moore
