Khyla Bussey
Took me a while to store enough magazines
grandma’s old ebony and editions left behind
in the student center, cut them into unrecognizable
scraps, compile myself in unwanted colors,
a remaking as a sunflower, searching for the face
of starshine smiling and remembering life might be
of Genesis, despite the serpents (or more unpopular,
because of the serpents). The hood be so colorful
with stolen cars ablaze on the backstreet. The rich
Black folk play broke for convenience, but me, I sit
in the tub with wine like soft life wondering if the sky
thinks I am beautiful. Clairvoyant eyes, unlikely blue,
notice the cinematics of shoes tied to telephone poles,
or spinning cars. If love ain’t a two-way street, you’ll
surely crash. The record scratched, collision on a loop.
The resident in the emergency room that day said,
I thought you were an island girl, I can make anything
. a sign of God.
Khyla Bussey is a graduating senior in Weinberg studying creative writing, psychology and Black studies.
