for kendrik
my first foray into love’s gold-toothed
bait and switch
my harlem-bred
pop-up book of sin
whose fists
brought us closer together
sharpened my taste for
designer shades
said if i ever left he’d blow out
my candles
but his eyes, sad scraps of gray
betrayed him every time
we exchanged secrets
spoke the dark gospel of henny
cocaine, any narcotic-medusa, smoked
‘til we were stone
he said dead
ain’t one size fits all
he said dead
wasn’t part of his repertoire
now look at my pretty-man mess
how his chest open-and-shuts
lockets bone, winks blood
elders put in their teeth
to say he was tortured
into bodybag—bring back the days
of fistfights but
the streets say butcher knives, brass
knucks, ice picks, say heat
ain’t just for cooking
and where he comes from
fifty more soldier the corner
and where he comes from
fifty more ready to bang
to adjourn life
his murder changes nothing—
his murder changes everything
i once called him mongrel to be
put down in an alley, said
i wouldn’t miss ‘im if he died
i once called him bahamian sunrise
said his mouth
could grow a new eden
all that shine he had up in it
by Amber Atiya
Amber Atiya, a queer poet and native Brooklynite, has performed at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, the Bronx Academy of Arts and Dance, the Museum of Modern Art, and elsewhere. Her work has appeared in Kweli Journal, Tribes Magazine, and Drunken Boat. She is a 2012 Poets House Emerging Poets Fellow and member of a women’s writing group celebrating 11 years and counting.