Jason B. Crawford (He/They) is a black, bi-poly-queer writer born in Washington DC, raised in Lansing, MI. In addition to being published in online literary magazines, such as High Shelf Press, Wellington Street Review, Poached Hare, The Amistad, Royal Rose, and Kissing Dynamite, he is the Chief Editor for The Knight’s Library. His chapbook collection Summertime Fine was a Short List selection for Nightingale & Gale. Jason is also the recurring host poet for Ann Arbor Pride.
Poets Resist
Edited by Riley Leight
February 28, 2020
Jason B. Crawford
The High Fashion Gala says I cannot twerk here
I’m sorry, I didn’t know my ass wasn’t welcome
here I figured since you invited me, you’d want
all of me to attend
Sure. I get it. Violins don’t make everyone want
to throw that ass back like a Luda song
But my body been tuned to beats since birth
so when a rhythm hits me
I gotta hit it back with a jiggle
And what am I supposed to do with all this
booty meat
second plate of cornbread gyrating behind me
got a mind of its own
Knows it’s way around a dance break
And I can’t help but notice I’m the only one
dancing here
When dance be the only proper form of celebration
for us not dying today
That, and food
which gave me all this body that wants to move
Or prove it’s not dead yet
And again, I get it
Black has never been high fashion
But you needed me here for this to be diverse
Plus, I’m welcome as long as I leave anything black that’s not my skin at home
You want the accolades of knowing a nigga
As much as your ancestors wanted the clout of owning one
But today will not be an excuse for me to fold the dark edges of my hands
Into my lap and be a good house boy
I will not sit where you say sit
I will not walk where you say walk
I will not bark when you say bark
I will not dance just to entertain you
No, I dance because the gout from the grease has not taken my knees yet
Because I can bend my joints low enough to let this ass tremble
I will scream ayyyyyy
I will look back at it
I may twerk in a split
My tongue will hang
But this body will not
It is mine
It is fashionable
Something you wish you could wear
or own
You, who duck walks your way out of the function
and pose breaks your spine back into the posture of the poise
Can show your mother you’ve cleaned all the nigger off your skin
You, who’ve been wearing my face and calling it drag
came to slay
and did.
Left millions dead at your feet
You are not worthy to wear this skin
I came to be the life of this ball
We’ve been doing high fashion for years
You could never be old to this
This is mine
and I will take it back
one ass cheek
at a time.
Poets Resist is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.