‘The Sun’, ‘Residential News’, ‘Treat Me like An Animal’ & ‘Chichén Itzá’
Mary-Evelyn Casey was born in Cleveland, Ohio and then at three months old adopted by an older couple and moved to live there with them in Youngstown, Ohio. She was later on at three years old moved out to Farmdale, Ohio where she lived on 50 acres of land until she was 18 years old. Mary-Evelyn was one of the very few African American children in her school growing up and faced many challenges as a young child centered around race and equality. Mary-Evelyn was not only one of the only blacks in her town but one of the tallest. Mary Evelyn was raised with strong Christian faith believing that Jesus Christ is our lord and savior, regularly attending church and Bible study in Youngstown Ohio, at Tabernacle Baptist Church.
The Sun
for John Lee Hooker
Today the Sun pulled up and parked right above my head
It’s so hot my scalp is shifting like a beach
I didn’t sit there I moved away
But the sun it’s been following me wasting gas starting and parking and starting
I picked up a umbrella magnolia leaf and set it on top of me
The sun burned it away
I had to get back to work even my head boiling all over, sweaty day
But it should be night now and it’s so bright
It’s good for grilling though isn’t it, I can roast peanuts when I pepper them on my head,
I’ll cover my head in honey, rosemary, peanuts, and sell them in little paper funnels
But why’s it following right above me? can’t always be noon,
I’m getting tired but the shadows are all gone,
I closed my eyes felt like a shower, I’m gonna stay under the water and sleep here
Sometimes there’s these little floating shapes when my eyes are closed,
A figure shaking back and forth in the pool, or a translucent tiny organism, or some particle
under my eyelid
II
It hasn’t left this morning, I’m soft boiling like an egg,
Traffic was jammed on the highway, but the cars parted for me
Sun like a crown blinded them all
Had my little searing Moses moment, wasn’t so bad
I let it sit on my head a bit, less wasteful to carpool
III
It's not hot
I can see its outline, I’m used to its weight on my head,
Not so scary when it isn’t so far in the cosmos
Its been a few days now perched like a look out, spotted a pretty flower the other day that
smelled like basil, spotted a nimbus and we were able to get under roof in time, never
saw the sun in the rain like that before, beaming up despite the grey of it, and that cloud was so warm it was like two rivals coming to terms, maybe falling in love, it was nice to watch
IV
Raise my hands to it sometimes, it doesn’t burn me
It flares out and my fingers feel warm,
Strange to see this giant so small now that it’s shown me the other stars
Sitting on my shoulder, sleeps there sometimes
Residential News
In the news a picture of my childhood friend arrested for domestic terrorism.
In other news I’m getting get shipped off to Boston.
Pizza with thick cheese that slides right off and leaves the crust behind (I don’t have to go to Boston if I eat the pizza).
“You know, speakeasies spread beyond prohibition. These days cool kids camp out in bars or hidden in the forest. They cook up crackpot cocktails to defend a couple trees; goes to show how dangerous it is to be bored”
An old man in prison trades his medication for a breath of fresh death. What do domestic terrorists trade for?
On tv, my friend gave his story for free with his arms behind his back. i ate pretzels as i watched. two forms of revolution.
Treat Me like An Animal
In the wild, when you love something you cut it
loose before you’re tempted to give it any of your
heat. Please let me give you my heat.
It hurts that you’re holding me like wolves in the winter
when you know already we won’t survive till
spring. It’s the first time you’re touching me as
a woman and I don’t want it to be the last so I
open myself for you and you put a gentle hand
to my cheek as if to say you’re going to give me what I
want but I should know that what we hold delicately
between our canines can’t help but burst, and
when it does, our mouths will fill with heat.
Chichén Itzá
From the top of the pyramid I can whisper in a high voice how I’m jealous of the Mama’s pulse, backwards beating pulse, but God, that tone-deaf imbecile, will just answer thunderbird-style, and the twitter will echo in the self-encased monument like a prisoner pounding against the walls. Despite the phase of the moon, Mama pretends we haven’t aged a day, like we’re not standing on a calendar. I finish licking corn oil off my fingers, the liquid clings to my mouth and I can’t taste anything but the buttered starch that coats my unmineable corn teeth. I only realise after I’ve already slipped my hand in Mama’s that she’s probably freaking out about germs, but she doesn’t pull away, and I understand: A runaway daughter, I’ll be desperate to keep my own daughter close. I mourn my mom with a renewed faith in an ear of maize, one who doesn’t have to be forgiven.
Camille Moreau
