Love Medley

Starts in the chest
like an electric
guitar blowing
through the veins.

The palms sweat
from the warmth
of the drumming
against the bones.

When the music
lasts long enough
to call is something
sex is where the
bassing happens.

Light it up, baby
light it up until
every head in the
audience bobbles
in front of the
neon lights tonight.

Written by: Flose Boursiquot, July 8th
Inspired by: AWALL instrumental medley

Brain Blow

As I sit on the floor with tears at my feet, I pluck.
I want to unroot every loaded term I’ve ever heard from the matted dirt in my brain, especially the ones that hurt.
When my hands face my eyes, the prickles I’ve removed from my synapses lie cold in my palm.

Nigger— it no longer whips my bones and hangs my blood dry.
Bitch— my vagina remains unsettled.
Crazy— the anxiety traveling through my body doesn’t run and hide under blankets of shame for hours passed the legal eight.
Loud— my big, beautiful lips don’t chafe and blister with anger.
Unreligious— every cell in my body does it’s own unique dance without fear of awakening the angels; freedom.

I am now plucking faster, yanking at every root until there’s nothing left but bald. When I have achieved this, I look at myself in the mirror.

Wow, you. Here you are so untouched.

Then I step aside and watch the whole thing explode into something beautiful, so full of light and love. I inch closer, pick up the pieces and swallow each one like bits of alfalfa sprout.

Grow in my belly, grow so strong until society is no longer your trigger. 

 

Written by: Flose Boursiquot, July 6th

(Our) Negroes

It is a pain I rarely think about
It is a pain I bury
Then I see their faces:
Medgar
Martin
Malcolm

I am reminded of the young lives taken
The loved ones wailing
Legends murdered

Then the pain returns
It’s sharp
Despaired
Lethargic

It goes, slowly, with the voice of the narrator,
It will return later wanting evermore to have known these great men

Written By: Flose Boursiquot

Something edgy

Are you sure?
Yes.
So he begins.
Slim caramel fingers extending from a tattooed left arm.

I breathe, I’m sure.
The buzz of the razor is calming.
He starts from the back and soon the floor is covered with black and gray curls.

I breathe, I’m sure.
There’s an intimate dance the barber does as he stops to check with me.
I smile and hold the top in place.
He continues.

I breathe, I’m sure.
Two friends sent me about a dozen images for inspiration.
He’s managed to make this cut my own.
The more he takes off, the more I fall in love with my face.

I breathe, I’m sure.
I haven’t seen you in awhile my smile says to the nakedness in the mirror.
There’s something freeing about us meeting like this says the nakedness.

I breathe, I’m sure.
The barber finishes and leads me to the sink.
As he begins to wash my hair Ed Sheeran comes on.
Thinking out loud.
What an intimate dance we’re doing, the Barber and me, much like my mother and I did for many years.

I breathe, I’m sure.
Haircut 4

Written by: Flose Boursiquot 
June 13, 2017

A Poetry Reading at the Arts Garage

South Florida feminist Haitian-American poet Flose Boursiquot to hit the stage at the Arts Garage on Thursday, May 4th at 7PM. Flose will share pieces from her first published body of work, Close Your Eyes, Now Breathe. She was recently named one of BET’s 8 Millennial Feminist Poets That Deserve Recognition. Flose is politically engaged in Delray Beach and managed Commissioner Jim Chard’s winning City Commission race. She’ll be teaching a poetry workshop at the Arts Garage in the fall.

FloseFlyer_ArtsGarage

Ticket purchase: https://web.ovationtix.com/trs/pesptpm/10169683/1071474

Learn more about Flose: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_eWdt4sWhI