“i’ve looked for the enemy
in everyone i love.
unable to sheathe my weapons,
i’ve dug hooves in.
someone i don't want to call god
draws a line in crushed ore, dares me to step over.”
-from the unrequited, its aftermath
Did you just read that? Do you see what this womyn just said? I. Am. Here. For. That. I am tempted to go back to sleep, wait for the sun to back track & start over again. I am tempted to stop writing this because those lines make me want to unravel whatever tread is struggling to hold me together. Hafizah Geter’s s work has a tendency to do that for me. This is the poet you expect to win a knife fight, and to do so smiling. Her work is to the point, bare of purposeless ornamentation and dazzling in there nude form. It is the act of a human undressing for the world and covering no scars, it is the act of stripping down not only to the skin, but to the bones & blood, it is the act of truth (cause truth is most definitely a verb) that makes Hafizah so remarkably humble with her poems & I find myself bowing to their grace and humanity. These are poems, award winning for a reason, make you sit down, try to recall your knees. These are poems that question the spine with there seriousness and play. These poems just plain make me weak. I need some wine and some good blues after I read them. I need to let the quiet say my name for a little while. I need Hafizah to keep delivering the golden air of her writing, to keep gracing us with her open armed and akimboed honesty.