after the Weeki Wachee Mermaids1
Today gon be a bayou, baby. I’m your ebony lady of the ecotones,
dripp’d out in a flamboyance of flamingo tongues, an escargatoire of lip gloss slick cowries
n a stillwater luh song lagoons-long. Today, the trans*continental call of mami n papi watas
gon be answered by the ululations of undrowned uncties n the owl hoot n holler heynows
of the Great Dismal Swamp, her daughters come down to zydeco in the forevertime romance
between flushing flatwoods n Blacksoilrich wetlands, oyster-ankled mangroves
swapping saltspit with the Atlantic. Today gon be a Sade Adu music video
n I’m gon show you no ordinary love, my transitioning body the perpetual Klimt’s Kiss
in the splash zone of the world. Green-sequined swimtop flashing eyes
watched weekly. We afroed Weeki Wachee mergurls take a slow drag from the oxygen
hose when told to n make you wonder how we oh so politefully bat away suffocation’s hot
breath blue talk. Charismatic, megafawn-worthy. What loves life loves us,
wants to stay n underwater ballet while we wear our braids until our braids
wear us wants to stay every nitrogen execution noosing manatees,
n other waterniggas, from the inside out. Today, your cousins
are tryna drain our in-betweens drain the Ever out the glades, and
you want to eddy in the know of where we go, where we weekendtime
maroon n wash the gig giddy from each others’ scalps
in the deepest carbon sinks, parting killer curls
with hand-me-down gatortail combs, you
want to watch while we pearldive to Marvin Gaye
beneath an evertrans moon that swells
at the thought of our touch, you
want Oshun’s sexual healing so
badly, you would drain her waters
on Project Tango’s greedlips
for misshapen keys
to closed practices
wouldn’t you, sugar?
Come tomorrow,
I’ll be none of your damn business.
dripp’d out in a flamboyance of flamingo tongues, an escargatoire of lip gloss slick cowries
n a stillwater luh song lagoons-long. Today, the trans*continental call of mami n papi watas
gon be answered by the ululations of undrowned uncties n the owl hoot n holler heynows
of the Great Dismal Swamp, her daughters come down to zydeco in the forevertime romance
between flushing flatwoods n Blacksoilrich wetlands, oyster-ankled mangroves
swapping saltspit with the Atlantic. Today gon be a Sade Adu music video
n I’m gon show you no ordinary love, my transitioning body the perpetual Klimt’s Kiss
in the splash zone of the world. Green-sequined swimtop flashing eyes
watched weekly. We afroed Weeki Wachee mergurls take a slow drag from the oxygen
hose when told to n make you wonder how we oh so politefully bat away suffocation’s hot
breath blue talk. Charismatic, megafawn-worthy. What loves life loves us,
wants to stay n underwater ballet while we wear our braids until our braids
wear us wants to stay every nitrogen execution noosing manatees,
n other waterniggas, from the inside out. Today, your cousins
are tryna drain our in-betweens drain the Ever out the glades, and
you want to eddy in the know of where we go, where we weekendtime
maroon n wash the gig giddy from each others’ scalps
in the deepest carbon sinks, parting killer curls
with hand-me-down gatortail combs, you
want to watch while we pearldive to Marvin Gaye
beneath an evertrans moon that swells
at the thought of our touch, you
want Oshun’s sexual healing so
badly, you would drain her waters
on Project Tango’s greedlips
for misshapen keys
to closed practices
wouldn’t you, sugar?
Come tomorrow,
I’ll be none of your damn business.
[1] For decades, the Weeki Wachee spring has been home to dozens of performing mermaids. Named by Indigenous Seminole peoples to mean “winding river,” the spring harbors an extensive underwater cave system and is so deep that its bottom has never been found.
