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Poetry

Wooden Planks

Following the election, I found myself nestling most of my ire and emotions into my chest. I didn’t write much about it, particularly in poetry, mostly because I didn’t want to be met with the harsh revelation of the country’s given state. Now, a few months later, I found myself combing through what was truly needing to claw out of me. And it has taught me to not restrain myself or my words.

 

wooden planks

there is a dull finish to

to the curt tendency of our phrases

voices flat, gazes blank

 

we dig our feet into deep depressions

the soil rich and padded by those whose

brown skin glistened beneath august heat

 

we no longer cup golden mornings in our palms

and fold them into the crinkles of our grins

plunging our fists into the air like we’re lady liberty

 

no, our lips are no longer swollen in chortles

tongues melted in cathartic retellings

of gondolas and salt

 

we are trudging along a trail of mud-caked fears

along sanctions disguised as a sullen man

sporting a crisp navy blue suit

 

his wiry face resembles that of one who

peels freedom from people’s flesh

like tangerines, citrus-scented and all

 

the television shudders with the word ‘President’

but it is something foreign in my mouth

like a cement slab lodged in the esophagus

 

like wax melting and congealing

into the tissue of bone marrow

mind sluggish, words slurred

 

six a.m. is followed by churning stomachs

by hurried “i love you’s” and prayers that

our autonomy will remain intact

 

we don’t turn on the television anymore

recoil at the word ‘President’

like venomous poison seeping into our lungs

 

we light a candle amid his declarations of privilege

declarations that scald the skin akin to my own

the candle burns out

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Written By

Brittany Adames is a seventeen-year-old Dominican-American writer. She spends most of her time writing poetry or leaving short stories half-finished.

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