Two Poems

Girl of The Month

twelve months spin like the pinwheel of earth
resting on the surface of her cheek, a carved number
bleeding from italics—her date of birth
born outside of heritage, on the shore where dark skin is undesirable
a girl blossomed from a mistake,
born on the twenty-fifth day
the youngest of four, she is rounded and whole
made of different people, mimics behaviours and consumes wrongdoings
she is not an individual, the season melts her
the fall, where puddles of flesh become solid
she has seen people leave, step out of line
the choice is always hers
twelve months have waited for her
age functions as both fact and metaphor
she embodies august, sparkling late
this fall, a new life she will start over
born again in the sun, an odd number, an even day, a rich life
it all becomes her

Melting Plastic

mannequins are stylized to capture the eye
rare to see one without shiny blonde hair that bounces at first touch
her soulless eyes share a hint of blue
poses holy, fit for the altar
front and centre for everyone to gaze
they will empty their pockets
place offerings in her palms for a piece of her
she is calculated and manufactured, her body stolen
from shallow graves of unprofitable souls

I stand in a row of other black girls
I am their case study,
I am now without a casket, I see them as maggots
our individualities sucked out of our bodies
we become lab rats, poked and prodded
until the mannequin is ready.