Fire Rass, and: Dove, and: Daal & Rice

Fire Rass

Dem haffi deadBoom bye byeInna batty bwoy head

Buju Banton, ‘‘Boom Bye Bye’’

paas aye okar hathan se kuchu bhi nahi lewana ta amwa lewa na ta oothan ke jutha piyo

outside oak doors, they throw fists of long-grained rice.Behind their palms hear the old folk sit down and gyaff,

‘ego suck dis one ke blood come night. Beforeblazing, we sneak out of windows to stash our skins

in coconut shells, hung from tree branches—it’s easy to sheath the body in flares, in latex

in the disco. Their keys twisted in holes, they feartheir sons will drink their nights stiff under neon

marquee lights, or we’ll peel off our shirts in publictoilets, or hack up flames. They root out our grounds,

rub peppers into our skins’ sores. Once we’re outed,they’ll set us on fire, write reggae songs on our pyres.

                    If you get close, taking nothing from their hands—                         not even a mango—don’t drink from their cup.

Dove

bichwa ke mare ordhniya ke torde,tohar najariya jaherile jaherile.

A scorpion stings me, its toxins swim my veins,one ill prick from you and I writhe in your fever.

I dream I cough up a songbird I release to the sky,you board a plane to take you across the desert.

I will tie messages to the feet of doves,set them to sail at dusk with a map to your country.

Dizzy with thirst they fall, raining, from the sky,their dried meat hardening in their tawny feathers.

I throw stones at planes’ shadows, cursing their ironto crash, to burn in serrated-leafed cane fields.

So my skin never blisters with your desire,in birdbaths I empty vials of avicide.

                                   The scorpion’s sting tears my veil,                         the glance from your poisonous eyes.

Daal & Rice

jira, laung, sarso, hardi, nimak: ego cup kesab ghiu mein bhujke, ho gail chounke

Pap invoked the gods of journey in mantra,tie you belt ke wuk, as he crossed the sea. Stuffing

burlap with mustard and Amazonia-hued grains,both Ma and he landed to mop Lutheran shit.

One starving whiteout December their sons frozethen shattered; stopped eating yellow with bare fingers.

‘E na get chounk, how ‘e go stay broung? hear Ajitalk. When I moved to New York at 25, I bought

10 lbs. of daal and basmati and slept aloneon the floor during my first ice storm. To keep warm

I boiled pots of water, stewed lentils intotrue love, a complete protein—something whole.

                             Cumin, clove, mustard, turmeric, one cup of salt,                                   fried all in butter is how you mix the spices.