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Featured Poet: LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs – The Feminist Wire

Featured Poet: LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs

By LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs

 

bacche kā pōtRā

 

bloom, the dandelion dance of Keisha’s mane. a Wave

of bush. her kitchen pearls & truffula treetops.

begin the traction. tug. creamy crack. lye ale. wave

 

 

so long. mares can be jumpy. but baby-girl’s plumes burnt.

crunchy bacon. her puberty looms early. fizzled particles

stuck to a flat iron. diapers don’t detect ovarian cysts. wave

 

 

adieu corkscrew. the follicles doomed. scorched sirens –

coils used to protect from ultraviolet. all for a ponytail? wave

to trichologist mama. to groom was spiritual once. now gray

pus from scalp drench tissue. lingering, a caustic perfume.

 

 

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Sunspot

 

flensing the bounce, the clap cheeks make, boys are

adored too easily. or perhaps the treasure trove we

 

deem invoked by twerk. love offering? booty without

arcane clues? rump could be scrolls the pirates desire

buried in the crease of flesh; or even thoroughbred mouthed

by knees that meet upon instruction and beat. Who

 

discovers the loot? cheap stilettos draw blood. are

we penors of lace fronts? our muskets black thighs? we

 

perspire into amphorae enough to erect and reward. in

15 cubits resides our platinum peek-a-boo chests. the

glare: a sunspot adorned just for a night of presence.

 

 

marmota monax mizrahi feeds chi chi mugler

at the latex ball

 

call the child legendary:

.     tens across for broad plump agrarian fierceness.

marmota monax mizrahi served fur realness for decades.

(it was never about how she bought it. she was born with it.)

 

no one thought she could battle the twisters –

thought she had retired to a burrow somewhere –

but her arabesque: they gagged & lived for.

 

her dip-controlled gracefulness said it: shablam! that’s how you eat it.

 

.     I am in charge of the gurls,

.     don’t mind the stubby tray. it’s not for you.

 

the daughters thought they’d turn out the sciurid.

w/ youth & long angular limbs,

.     linear rigid action given to geometrics & dramatics;

.     something young knees could withstand            but dis bitch,

 

.     the undeniable ovahness of marmota monax mizrahi’s duck walk

.      sealed it.

 

.     her exhibition. punishing.

.     her attack position: cougar cunt realness.

.     reinvention: lowland vegan butch.

.     the children were not ready.

 

twisters ate. marmota monax mizrahi broke it down.

spun whirlwinds around cunts bypassing inflamed endorsements.

 

those short limbs with symmetry sang “lemme get my life back”

packaged in Timberland, white tube socks, black latex hot pants.

 

marmota monax mizrahi tutted her wrists. she refused to be chopped.

spins. catwalk. duck walk. Dips. Dips.

duck walks. lollies. spins. the marmota could not be denied.

 

“wurk. wurk you woodchuck bitch!” the crowd screamed.

 

.     13 crowns of tens,

.     the trophy placed in her claws

.     w/ her final bow,

.                                                             “I love you all for loving me.”

 

Kearney_TWERK4

 

anasema kwa haraka

 

slide a bone beneath Her head 

 

 

dead sistren inna rush rush. im slide

 

im vex corpse on di boat. sistren has a

 

words before im carry on. a bone

 

to pick wid di fadda of pickny beneath

 

di bush dem planted wen im gwaan astray. Her

 

spirit won’t join im til all fuckery clears head.

 

tried n tru im say fadda’s head

 

full-up. im corpse rattle. Her

 

eyes bulge. “tru yu dagga mi sista beneath

 

di same tri wi firs kissed. but di likkle bone

 

wi call yuh sistah finga, inside felt nica dan a

 

daak cock. mek mi pum-pum so wet, sweet-awt jus slide.”

 

 

 

Sunspot is a golden shovel.  It contains the line “are we without desire mouthed Who are we in the presence” from the poem “Recite Neruda in my thighs in my open mouth constellatory psalms” by Metta Sáma. Penor is Welsh for headpiece or muzzle.

marmota monax mizrahi feeds chi chi mugler at the latex ball contains a line from the song “Elements of Vogue” by David Ian Xtravangaza.

anasema kwa haraka is Swahili for “she speaks in a hurry.” It contains a line from the poem “The Anniad” by Gwendolyn Brooks.

Photo credit: “Tyra Sanchez” by David Ragsdale

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Tea Time by TateWriter, vocalist, and sound artist LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs is the author of the poetry collection, TwERK (Belladona 2013), from which these poems are extracted. She is also the author of the chapbooks, Ichi- Ban, Ni-Ban(MOH Press), and Manuel is destroying my bathroom (Belladonna*), as well as the album Televisíon. Her work has been published in Black Renaissance NoirNocturnes, FENCE, PloughsharesThe Black ScholarP.M.SLA Reviewjubilat, and others. She has received scholarships, residencies, and fellowships from Cave Canem, New York Foundation for the Arts, the Harlem Community Arts Fund, Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, Barbara Deming Memorial Grant for Women, the Jerome Foundation, Black Earth Institute, and other organiations. As an independent curator and artistic director, LaTasha has presented and directed literary/musical/theatrical events at Symphony Space, Lincoln Center Out of Doors, WBAI, The Schomburg Research Center for Black Culture, BAM Café, Dixon Place, and El Museo del Barrio. A native of Harlem, LaTasha and writer Greg Tate are the founders and editors of yoYO/SO4 Magazine. TwERK is her “first book”. Learn more about it here: http://www.spdbooks.org/Producte/9780988539907/twerk.aspx?rf=1

4 Comments

  1. Hermine Pinson

    July 3, 2013 at 10:32 pm

    LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs’ bold diamond-faceted metaphors invent a language we must hear to believe.

  2. Hermine Pinson

    July 3, 2013 at 10:32 pm

    LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs’ bold diamond-faceted metaphors invent a language we must hear to believe.

  3. Hermine Pinson

    July 3, 2013 at 10:32 pm

    LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs’ bold diamond-faceted metaphors invent a language we must hear to believe.

  4. Hermine Pinson

    July 3, 2013 at 10:32 pm

    LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs’ bold diamond-faceted metaphors invent a language we must hear to believe.