Danez Smith Biography

O California, don't you know the sun is only a god
if you learn to starve for him? I'm bored with the ocean
...

this gin-heavy heaven, blessed ground to think gay & mean we.
bless the fake id & the bouncer who knew
this need to be needed, to belong, to know how
a man taste full on vodka & free of sin. i know not which god to pray to.
i look to christ, i look to every mouth on the dance floor, i order
a whiskey coke, name it the blood of my new savior. he is just.
he begs me to dance, to marvel men with the
dash
of hips i brought, he deems my mouth in some stranger's mouth necessary.
bless that man's mouth, the song we sway sloppy to, the beat, the bridge, the length
of his hand on my thigh & back & i know not which country i am of.
i want to live on his tongue, build a home of gospel & gayety
i want to raise a city behind his teeth for all boys of choirs & closets to refuge in.
i want my new god to look at the mecca i built him & call it damn good
or maybe i'm just tipsy & free for the first time, willing to worship anything i can taste.
...

wit h bee f a nd veg gi es
b less ed wi th an e gg
sa ff ro n sul li ed c hil lin
w ith g arl ic or d irty n ot qu ite
re d bu ggin the bea ns
or jus t ri ce, wat er th e mi ra cl e
of sa lt t he gr a in s pr omi se
to pil lo w an d st retc h
i u sed to ha te r i ce
hat ed it h ated h ow
br oke it sou nde d
rice rice rice a po cket
w ith thr ee co p per co ins
hu n ger s tamb our ine
i h ate d al l of it
h ated the w ate r
gh ostbl eac hed by sta rc h
hat ed th e p uff y mo on s
po ckin g my sto m a ch
lik e a si ck ne ss
end in g sic kn ess
hat ed ev eryth ing
th at i woul d mar ry no w
l eg it wo uld
i wo uld m arry wa ter
coul d it hav e me
wi tho ut de adi ng me
i d m arry the m oon
cha nge my n ame
to it s ho ur
i wou ld w ed t he y o lk
go ld r ice stu ck
in th e yo lk yell ow tee th
of m y hom e girls w ere it n ot
alr eady jew els
mini ng th eir lau ghs
bl in ge d ou t li ke a do w ry
shi nin
nex t to th e bi lls of m int
bov ine rib bons
co n fet t ied c ar rots
...

but there is no proof but proof
no mark but the good news

that there is no bad news yet. again.
i wish i knew the nausea, its thick yell

in the morning, the pregnant proof
that in you, life swells. i know

i'm not a mother, but i know what it is
to nurse a thing you want to kill

but can't. you learn to love it. yes.
i love my sweet virus. it is my proof

of life, my toxic angel, wasted utopia
what makes my blood my blood.

i understand belle now, how she could
love the beast. if you stare at fangs

long enough, even fangs pink
with your own blood look soft.

•

low-key, later, it felt like i got it
out the way, to finally know it

up close, see it in the mirror.
it doesn't feel good to say that.

it doesn't feel good to know
your need outweighed your fear.

i braved a stupid ocean. a man.
i waded in his stupid waters.

i took his stupid salt & let it
brine my skin, took his stupid

fish into my hands & bit into it
like a flapping plum. i kissed at

his stupid coral & stupid algae.
it was stupid. silly really. i knew nothing

that easy to get & good to feel
isn't also trying to eat you.

•

knew what could happen. needed
no snake. grew the fruit myself.

was the vine & the rain & the light.
the dirt was me. the hands drilling

into the dirt were my hands.
i made the blade that cut me down.

but i only knew how to live
when i knew how i'll die.

i want to live. think i mean it.
take the pill even on the days

i think i won't survive myself.
gave my body a shot. love myself

at least that much. thank you, me.
thank you, pill, seafoam & bland.

thank you, sick blood, my first husband
dead river bright with salmon.
...

i don't know how, but surely, & then again
the boy, who is not a boy, & i, who is barely
me by now, meld into a wicked, if not lovely
beast, black lacquered in black, darker
star, sky away from the sky, he begs, or
is it i beg him to beg, for me to open,
which i do, which i didn't need to be asked
but the script matters, audition & rehearse
the body - a theatre on the edge of town
chitlin' circuit opera house, he runs a hand,
praise the hand, over me, still red with hot
sauce, is that what it is? his hands, jeweled
in, what? what could it be? what did he pull
from me? a robin? a wagon? our red child?


//



pulled from me: a robin, a wagon, our red child
with dead red bird in his hands, dead child
in red coffin on wheels, parade out of me
second line up the needle & into the vial
all the children i'll never have, dead in me
widow father, sac fat with mourning, dusk
is the color of my blood, blood & milk
colored, chalk virus, the boy writes on me
& erases, the boy claps me between
his hands & i break apart like glitter
like coke, was there coke that night?
my nose went white then red all over
thin red river flowing down my face
my blood jumped to ask him to wade.



//



my blood got jumped, ask him to wait
before he gives me the test results, give
me a moment of not knowing, sweet
piece of ignorance, i want to go back
to the question, sweet if of yesterday
bridge back to maybe, lord bring me
my old blood's name, take away
the crown of red fruit sprouting
& rotting & sprouting & rotting.
in me: a garden of his brown mouth
his clean teeth, his clean answer
phantom hiding behind a red curtain
& i would sing if not for blood in my throat
if my blood was not a moat.



//



if my blood was not a moat, i'd have a son
but i kingdom myself, watch the castle turn
to exquisite mush. look at how easy bones
turn to grits how the body becomes effigy.
would have a daughter but i am only
the mother of my leaving. i sit on jungle gym
crying over other people's children, black
flowers blooming where my tears fall.
bees commune at their lips, then
turn them to stone. as expected.
my blood a river named medusa. every man
i touch turns into a monument. i put
flowers at their feet, their terrible stone feet.
they grow wings, stone wings, & crumble.



//



they grow wings, stoned wings, crumble
& fall right out my body, my little darlings.
i walk & leave a trail of my little never-
no-mores. my little angels, their little feathers
clogging the drain, little cherubs drowning
right in my body, little prayers bubbling
at the mouth, little blue skinned joys
little dead jokes, little brown eyed can'ts
my nursery of nunca, family portrait
full of grinning ghost, they look just like me
proud papa of pity, forever uncle, father
figure figured out of legacy, doomed daddy.
look at my children, skipping toward the hill
& over the hill: a cliff, a fire, an awful mouth.



//



& over the hill: a cliff, a fire, the awful mouth
of an awful river, a junkyard, a church made
from burnt churches - place for prayer
for those who have forgotten how to pray.
i stand by the river, the awful one, dunk
my head in the water & scream
for my river-bottom heirs - this is prayer
right? i fall & i drown & i trash & i burn
& i dunk my head in the water & i
call the children drowned in my blood
to come home - this is the right prayer?
lord, give me a sign, red & octagonal.
god bless the child that's got his own.
god bless the father who will have none.



//



god bless the father who will have none
to call him father, god bless the lonely
god who will create nothing. but there's
pills for that. but the pills cost too much.
& the womb cost money to rent.
but who will let you fill them with seed
from a tree of black snakes? but i didn't know
what he was bringing to me. but he
told me he was negative. but he wasn't
aware of the red witch spinning
in his blood. but he tasted so sweet.
sweet as a child's smile. sweet as a dream
filled with children who look just like you
you know: black, chubby, beaming, dying.



//



you know: black, chubby, beaming, dying
of hunger, dying on the news, dying to forget
the news, he came to me like that. we were
almost brothers, almost blood, then we were.
good god, we made a kind of family - in my veins
my son-brothers sleep, sister-daughters
name each cell royal, home, untouchable.
in every dream, i un- my children:
untuck them into bed, unkiss their lil wounds
unteach them how to pray, unwake in the night
to watch their little chests rise & fall, unname
them, tuck them back into their mothers
& i wake up in bed with him - his red, dead, gift
i don't know how, but surely, & then again.
...