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Two Poems by Monet P. Thomas | Word Riot

August 22, 2016      

Two Poems by Monet P. Thomas

Palmetto Moon

In Charleston, black folks know ghosts
are always among them on the cobblestone

streets jagged outlines in salt, their shackles
rusted. In Charleston, black children grow

blacker under the southern sun —
ever the watchful eye of all our misdeeds.

In Charleston, white oaks are not just trees
but platforms, shelters, the bearers of rope.

Standing on the shoreline of the port,
listen, will you, to the gentle waves
that brought the ships in.
First Line of an Aubade

No beans to grind, no life-giving elixir
left for the pot, but I stand staring
at the machine and think about Jesus,
God and miracles.
Last night’s indulgence is dry, white
film around my mouth. I begin to think
I’m too old for the fight we had
about sex, money, who can leave
who without hurting.

Water seems a weak substitute. 

I can barely hold my hand around a glass,
its angles catching the light
of morning making me wince. And then
you stride into the kitchen like the first line
of an aubade, the day trailing behind,
and the dog  finally lifts her head, because now
there is something to see. 

Monet P ThomasAbout the author:

Monet Patrice Thomas is a poet and writer from North Carolina. She earned an MFA from the Inland Northwest Center for Writers at Eastern Washington University in Spokane, Washington. Her work can be found online at Hobart, Split Lip Magazine, & Specter, to name a few. Follow her on Twitter at @monetwithlove for a daily dose of frivolity and ennui.

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