We Will Find An Island & The Only Song That Will Play is The Whitney Song That Makes Us Cry

a Golden Shovel after Gwendolyn Brooks’ The Blackstone Rangers & Boy Breaking Glass

and we will name the island after

the summer when the gonorrhea gang


finally learned to stop kissing

with their mouths open, when the girls


who we were, with our amethyst bruises turned

violets un-bludgeoned by our blooming, are


lipped in metallic blue and rimmed in black gossamer

and hung with hoop earrings, our sweet


names cursived between the bamboo gold.

and on the island, we will be the exotics:


we will be young and untouched and they will crave

our fat bodies, our bulging mouths, our


sea salt and creole and we can say

anything and be beautiful


doing so, and on the island, anyone who loves us

will be full of flower and flaw


and we will love them black and we will kiss their palms

and we will decorate their faces with gemstones and


on the island, we will dance to the Whitney song

that makes us cry, we will lilt a terrible


dance beneath a quiet moon and we will glow like some fire-lit and

sky-bound balloon, some gorgeous and floating ornament.

M. Mick Powell

M. Mick Powell is a queer black femme feminist poet. Her poems and essays have been published or are forthcoming in Winter Tangerine, The Feminist Wire, Apogee Journal, Nat. Brut, and others. Mick’s chapbook chronicle the body was released by Yemassee Journal in March 2019. In her free time, Mick enjoys talking about beauty products, bodies, Beyonce, and baked goods.