I lung for that
pollen sneezin’, sticky car seatin’,
Atlanta heat, but it ain’t enough
I’m tryin to return
to the black I was
always supposed to be
before the belly of history
regurgitated me
I want that same wavy sun
over the equator of Africa
Ugandan, Kenyan, Somalian,
I want to be black mixed with black
I mean, unmistakably black,
not three quarters black,
I mean, Fred Hampton black,
who wouldn’t want to be
black like that?
I’m coming for 5/5 black.
What I’m really saying is that
I’m going to reclaim my identity
from shame.
Mortal Kombat
Today I wrestled with a hummingbird
for the nectar of life. I climbed a Magnolia tree
to behold more closely the white flowers and
looked for pecans in the grass below
I stretched my hands to the sun
and withdrew honey from the rays there
I fell backwards and sprouted wings
painful in their outstretching
like a yawn of doom from a breaking lung
like a breaking lung torn from a claw of life
birthed from the coo of a mourning dove
The Blood Speaks
When do our voices
sprout the wings of eagles
and claim the ground
where the blood cries out
Abel’s body was dead
but God heard his babbling blood
unjustly spilled, cry out
from hollow ground
a geyser of a voice
sprouting wings to heaven
saying “look what my
brother has done”
Deaundra Jackson is a graduate of the 2023 MFA in Writing program at Sarah Lawrence College. Her work focuses on amplifying the voices of marginalized communities from the past. She was a 2023 Diversities and Diasporas Fellow of the Global Diversity Foundation and currently teaches Composition at Clark Atlanta University. Deaundra’s writing has been featured in Solstice Literary Magazine, The Raven’s Perch, Aunt Chloe Literary Magazine, Rising Phoenix Review, and Beyond the Sea: An Eber & Wein Anthology. She resides in Atlanta, Georgia where she enjoys watching hummingbirds and attending music festivals.
