Girl is glory

What did Kanye West mean?

she wonders

Seasons, she says,
Static, curves of predictability flickering, erratic,
cold like heat, like drops of drought,
like my grandmothers smile when I laugh at her jokes
Her jokes, alien and distant
I cannot translate back its meaning, I simply detect its being
with the curve of her lips
It is a signal that I should laugh
out of politeness,
my tongue
reaches for meaning,
wraps itself around nothingness
The silence screams endlessly-
until it is too tired to speak anymore,
until it too is broken,
like pieces of bottled glass,
like my curses and crushed cries,
like the smell I know too much like home
the scent of breathe drowned in ash and heat,
and its predictability, its permanence
it builds distance
like shame on a Sunday afternoon,
dry with thirst for an answered prayer,
a rebirth of color-
an end to the wrecked winter.
But the cold slits the strongest branches with his crown
and I too begin to bow at his feet.

And she wonders what season God presents itself as.
And she wonders if this world is just wind and passing seasons.

What did Kanye West Mean- a poem in the form of questions?

Why does summer time air reek of iron
Roses blooming on dark soil.
On dark bodies.
Why does he claim that God planted the seed, marked his body with this time ticking alarm.
Is this not a violation of nature, of law.
What did Kanye West Mean when he claimed that we are "in a war with racism."
Does this war need a declaration when it seeems long written into God's world.
What did he mean when he claimed that we are "in a war with ourselves."
Can we declare war on an entity so powerful it carved its way into bloodstreams,
rests its remains under the surface of skin meet bones.
Did he mean we could defeat the hatred, quench the ache from hungry stomachs,
feel victory with our hands, touch it, write it in story, and frame it in legislative.
And out of victory, will we be reborn without color, evolve until the atoms that combine into melanin mean nothing for our survival.
Will we practice justice the way we claim it — Blind
Will we teach children to pick their friends the way they pick their crayons, eyes closed without judgement.
Will we teach beauty without milk pigments, without almond eyes that reflect summertime lakes.
Will we begin to accept this world of God, one full of color, color that is not a curse, not a fortune's fool.
Color that does not signify a marked, shortlived path,
in which dark-skin does not signify a dark life,
in which skin is not a funeral outfit.
Color that does not send children to a war on a homefront.
And what end would that be.
What peace would that be.
Will we sing love "L-O-V-E," the characters found on skin, skin without an already given definition, no already destined fate.

And when the boy with the dark skin puts his hands up, will he, the man behind the badge, too, lay down his arms.