ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Golden (they/them) is a black gender-nonconforming trans-femme photographer and poet raised in Hampton, VA, currently residing in Boston, MA. Their work deals with the intersections of blackness and gender within the construct of America. Golden is a 2019 Pushcart Prize Nominee, 2019/2017 Pink Door Fellow, the 2018 House Slam Grand Slam Champion, the 2016 NYU Grand Slam Champion, & was apart of the 2017/2018 NYU CUPSI Championship winning team. Their work has been featured on/at the Shade Journal, the Offing, Wildness, Button Poetry, i-D, Interview Magazine, & elsewhere. Golden holds a BFA in Photography from New York University.
Also by Golden:
Family Portrait with Ancestors
And I Will Always Be Your Mother
When I was Seven I Captured a Honey Bee in a Poland Spring Bottle to Solve the Mystery of Economy
Task:
Observe how Americans farm to keep conquests
Materials:
1. 1⁄2 tsp of sugar
2. 1⁄2 tsp of water
3. Iron
4. Dirt fingernails
5. A feral palm
6. 1⁄2 an equator of soil
7. I
8. A nation of ripe children
Procedure:
1. Drizzle a trail of sugar in a budding field, to call all the bees dancing alone.
2. Close the lid. Perfect ambush.
Constant:
Container
Trial:
Diaspora
Hypothesis:
If the buzzing comes, then bees are dying to participate.
Experiment:
Poke holes in the soil of the cap, for water, wind, & wonder. Not escape.
Note: An exit gives hope. Full calorie output. The bee will perform labor until it’s an environmental product. Slave to the blood.
Note: The bee thinks it can revolt with troops — a garden full of suicides born ready.
Note: Nations can be made from dead husks.
Note: Americans haven’t learned, Home.
Constant:
Fertilizer
Hypothesis:
If America’s God made soil, then we’ve conducted experiments.
Question:
1. Does the bee realize it’s not going free?
2. Does liberation come from the colony, the water, the soil, or the sugar?
3. Does the colony look to the flowers, or down at the bed-soil?
Experiment:
Grab the head of the bottle, like a founding father —
fist around the neck, & shake until gravity shears a wing.
Note: The bee will never join country.
Never did I imagine what falling without a wing feels like.
Conclusion:
1. I’ve never been more historical than this moment.
2. I harmed spring’s angel for singing a song
I did not know, to get to a place I cannot know.
Note: We are all murders in America.
Hypothesis:
If honey bees are extinct, then their nation is
not dead. Everyone is outside, looking
for their missing brothers.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
