An excerpt from The Rumpus Poetry Book Club‘s December selection,
CONCENTRATE by Courtney Faye Taylor
forthcoming from Graywolf Press on November 1, 2022
Aunt Notrie died in the t-shirt & tummy of
the man in the middle of America;~ was cervical, o-
varian? one of the southern cancers;~ like the last
blast of eczema, she left a considerable
itch in her dying;~ obese grief nursed on me
like a satin leech;~ xanax, a holy host, a
nimble quilt;~ her favorite color
was silk, which was not also her
favorite feeling;~ thank the Black redeemer
it was me;~ urine running
clear for weeks;~ snatching a fist-
ful of denim to uproot a cameltoe but
with it coming the bush unburning;~ being
colored is cooling hands down the sweats
of OJs;~ it is, with Raid, watching
roaches undergo an entertaining
petrifaction;~ learning how one strand of my
kinks & a pride of centipedes
curl close when they just
through, honey;~ this finality, finally
I welcome it—its lucid birth, litigious
burst;~ Aunt Notrie died in me like some
withered Dooney & Bourke, like
the burnt rind of a lemon;~ life-insured but
“daughter of Shango” was / is her most
preexisting condition;~ seven years
ago today, my stretch marks made the laughlines
of a leftist markswoman;~ my hips, two white
liars;~ ya’ll ’member waybackback when we
wore wristwatches & earth ran on individually
set time?;~ Aunt Notrie drove me to three
Burger Kings just to get that Susie
Carmichael watch that glowed mauve
in the bath suds, so I been knew my
kind could amphibian a way through
white disaster;~ Auntie’s tolerance
for smoke, five-hearted as beige earth-
worms, but ma’am;~ what smoke needed
was consequence;~ what it needed
was harm back
for harming;~ whiteness escaped it;~ this
ghetto of angels will not;~ grief is the master
of what happens;~ what girl of color survives
what happens?
***
Excerpt from “Paradise” from Concentrate. Copyright © 2022 by Courtney Faye Taylor. Used with the permission of Graywolf Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota, www.graywolfpress.org.
