Documentation:

 

The asthma attack

happened inside my class

we weren’t supposed to call 911

but the security guard did, and got fired a month

later. the girl’s mama arrived like this

was her daily lunchtime routine.

 

the fights burst into our hallways

like I was back on  Hoover

and 7 Mile cuz I had

skipped school with my dude

was minding my own business

when one girl winked at the other girls

man- except, here, at work,

I intervene-

it’s my job to not let black girls

be casualties in a tangled wreck.

 

I’ve gained back all the weight.

It hurts in places I can’t point to.

I don’t know the kids

names, still, in October,

but they speak mine like a prayer

and they waiting on me to show them a

deity  who make dead bodies walk out

of this burial ground.

 

Today, moths trapped themselves

in the broken light fixtures.

the mice didn’t come out

but i could still see the droppings

on the floor near my desk.

kill as many ‘and’s as you can in this poem.  can the poem somehow end on

this stanza instead of starting here?

 

---

Andromeda Talks Origin with Nymphadora

 

You began as most things

An accident

His lip curled in a shy kindness

A swarm of lies ballooning my cheeks

 

The spell to share pure blood

Shook our house

Like fireworks

Then fell to the ground- a shadow

Of dust.

 

Nothing worked. His smile grew.

My veins melted until I found them

useless

 

What is blood if it is  not

thick enough to rewrite

A lineage?

 

The Blacks have delivered the

Killing curse over less.

 

I shed my skin and grew

A new one that loved him

More than

itself

---

Brittany Rogers asks Nymphadora Tonks to Interpret Her Nightmare

Or

Mother Falls Asleep Watching Local News

 

I ended up in the

abandoned field by my house-

a forest of wands fixed 

on my swollen stomach. 

My stomach is an unwatched pot

brewing rust and chamomile.

The baby inside

senses the wands

and growls.

The wands bark back.

Then they are dogs

nipping at my brown ankles.

I smell of wet iron, a wounded pet

waiting to be swallowed whole.

They stand on hind legs

hands formed from

gunpowder and matches.

The baby shipwrecks 

into my pelvis. It wants

out. The hands point.

Ready.                                   

 

---

Brittany Rogers is a poet, mother, educator, and proud Hufflepuff. She is Co- Chief Editor for WusGood.Black, a literary magazine that highlights urban writers. Brittany has work published or forthcoming in Vinyl Poetry and Prose, Freezeray Poetry, Gramma, Black Nerd Problems, and Tinderbox Poetry. She is a fellow of VONA/ Voices and Pink Door Writing Retreat