Root Work Journal - Convening in the Ark - Volume 1, Issue 1

sasquatch morning 2 & hirworld

sierra jones-frishman

20/20 Voices Podcast

sierra.jf126@gmail.com

DOI: https://doi.org/10.47106/4rwj.11110064

 

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This poem is about the necessity of empowering, mutual, uplifting, nurturing human relationships. This poem is about the dualities of energy in us all. This poem is about living out legacy, as we will be ancestors one day. This poem is about the resilience of a new day. This poem is for my revolutionaries and community actors.

 

sasquatch morning 2

 

the sun and the moon

converge in Washington

on our flock of winged beauties.

 

my curls hang with dew.

my eyelids blink slowly as the light rises and rises.

 

where we tread

here, again, some body will

say, ‘I wish I lived in an earlier time’,

referring to us.

 

the sun’s glow, i’ll argue, is never old, nor late.

 

some days are really two or three or many.

these two heavenly bodies, rising, 

together in time , murmur that fact.

 

together ‘we will never stop, we have only time’.

 

energies of the earth

crawl up the tiny toes we rely on

while we are in awe and unaware.

 

so it is that these lives intertwine.

so it is that this life i have is mine.

 

grays are beautiful shades

and with grace i’ll aim to enjoy them all.

my eyes are closed with the 

garnet of early morning instead

of a dark dusk’s reminisce.

the only binaries are in relationships.

these two spirits, converging

to create the infinities we wish were half known.

we’ll create the infinity you’ll die knowing.

 

 

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This poem is about my visions of the world for Black people after the revolution is won.

 

hirworld

 

Please - 

take me in silver silks

held by wispy breezes

bound by rings of solid earth.

 

lead me into a water-nymph’s mysticism.

 

out there the swamp aisles are roads.

the pre-automaton 2000’s queens are in perfect rotation

and a soft sagg rolls hir hips.

 

Please -

take me in jovial jumps

among swirled gasps of ghosts

where all ones are for one living.

 

lead me to ours, collected in a c.r.e.a.m. oration

where “c” is for community, for collective, cooperative, for complete.

 

out there the doors are open on empty houses.

the marked militants all smile under our music’s motion

and a soft sagg rolls hir hips.

 

Please -

take me in a crown of weeping willow’s fingers

where the fruit is wrapped in air swept leaves

where our corn-colored coils cover our heads

 

lead me to the susurration’s finesse.

 

out there, the seashells are on mountains.

 

 

 

 

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