Dorsía Smith Silva

∞

While Black

driving while black
entering your own house/apartment/business while black
mourning while black
listening to music while black
using a coupon while black
smoking while black
flying on an airplane while black
swimming while black
canvassing while black
babysitting while black
parking while black
using “free” WiFi while black
playing while black
eating while black
working while black
walking while black
golfing while black
sitting while black
opening a business while black
reading while black
talking while black
laughing while black
shopping while black
waiting for a taxi/car service/ride while black
moving into/buying a new house/apartment/condo while black
shopping while black
barbequing while black
jogging while black
studying while black
sleeping while black
asking for directions while black
using a credit card while black
opening a bank account while black
selling loose cigarettes/water/any goods while black
breathing while black
existing while black

Beginnings

Just off a plane and no longer anchored in
the weight of the warm waters of the Caribbean,
we find ourselves in a strange September:
the sky opens into new molecules,
the snow comes softy,
wet velvet, onto the fields—
full patches of corn and soybeans.
You throw on your pale blue snowsuit,
fold your dark hair under the hood,
and rush out the back door
like a raw animal
into the thick cold leaves
dusted with snow.
You pull me slowly towards the powdery flakes.
We fall against the canvas like smooth silk,
brushing against the weight of an early winter,
immune to detachment.

∞

Dorsía Smith Silva is a Professor of English at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras. Her poetry has been published in several journals and magazines in the United States and the Caribbean, including Portland Review, Heartwood Literary Review, Stoneboat, Nassau Review, Shot Glass, Gravel, Bright Sleep Magazine, Apple Valley Review, and POUI: Cave Hill Journal of Creative Writing.