Hayden Berry

Pocket Notes on my Return to Natural Fluidity

Aimé Césaire made me want to be a nigga
but my body had other ideas.
It’s hard to tell
how much milk you can pour
into a paper mouth
before the coffee grounds choke
to death, and I was trained
in the art of water
                            boarding my brain
before I could sputter a protest,
so what on earth do I know?

What do you say
about chiaroscuro minefields
when you’re not the shadow,
nor the light,
not even steam or smog?
What sounds do I make
to make sense of
my sleep, devoid of dreams,
of walking past an
artificial lake
and seeing the ducks
that live there as creatures more human
than me, with suits
made of feathers
and no concern for the lack
of fish in their water?

What face should I show?
How will my knees bend?
How much can I contort to match
the chirp of robotic birds, notifying me
that I’ve gotten too close
to the dark
wood of their tree,
and how am I
to make my bones
vibrate with the fervor
of mechanical bees,
living in iridescent isolated flower
patches?

They look at themselves
and buzz out,
                          stranger.

I do not belong to a hive or a nest.
I do not belong to brick dormitories.
I do not belong to the dirt.

I belong to muscle tension
and sore, growling throats.
I belong to a chrysalis
rotting between cracks on the sidewalk.
I belong to a pair
of wings that chewed their way out
of my spine and drowned my back
in rivers of blood that have grown deep
like my soul.

What do I do with that?
What do I do with you?
What now?
What can I do for this nothingness
that fell asleep in my lap?

I carry the beast and its questions.
I weave them between planes of existence,
between hormone gel and spoonfuls of melanin,
and I breathe in sync with the void.
I boil water
and pour it in a mug,
then pour the milk on top
and watch the color
leak into view.
I stir it until it’s homogenous
and I walk to places unknown
with oblivion trailing behind me,
and as the steam runs away from my caffeinated hand
it whispers,

                           none of this is mine,
                           none of this is mine.