Chains
i.
the pavement smell of black boys. write and wrap
black boys. bang blue against those black boys. black boys
are sin.
write them sin boys. listen to sin boys. them sin boys whine like you
used to. they church like you use to. denied jesus like you did. front
row pew boys.
momma waits for you. momma say jesus will save you black boy.
listen to that jesus boy. write about them jesus boys. nail yourself against that
jesus boy. stomach first.
then nail.
then palm.
ii.
fracture the jaw. unhinge the cheekbone. turn teeth into
fire. let the blood nest on the lips: a puddle of bones.
dead bones. dead boned boy. ‘cause black boys are left dead boy.
be balled up boys. be left boned and bone. and brown and brown and brown
and black boys.
pavement smelling boys. left wanting nothing left of black boy.
black boy
dead boy. full of bones boy.
dead boned boy. wanting to be touched by men boy. tear off
the skin cause it reeks of too touchy men
boy. then remove the eyes. follow with mouth. and tongue.
finger. and palm boy.
remember how he felt you up with his palm boy.
iii.
boy.
iv.
you need love boy. cause boys like you are starting to look the same. boys like you are
beginning to look too much like tombstones than boys. like chalk outlines than body. bodied
boy. niggas in bodies boy. nigga’s body boy.
you nigga’s boy.
you every brown boy come before you boy.
v.
black boy burn bring black boy back breathe black boy breathe boy. burn
black boy burn breathe bright blaze boy
black
black
black brown boy bound boy bottom boys be bones be bagged boy
black boys bring boy bright boy being black boy no bright boy be brown boy but
brown boy burn boy ‘bolished boy. black boy
break. boy. brown
boy. no brown
boys
by Lue Hughes
the pavement smell of black boys. write and wrap
black boys. bang blue against those black boys. black boys
are sin.
write them sin boys. listen to sin boys. them sin boys whine like you
used to. they church like you use to. denied jesus like you did. front
row pew boys.
momma waits for you. momma say jesus will save you black boy.
listen to that jesus boy. write about them jesus boys. nail yourself against that
jesus boy. stomach first.
then nail.
then palm.
ii.
fracture the jaw. unhinge the cheekbone. turn teeth into
fire. let the blood nest on the lips: a puddle of bones.
dead bones. dead boned boy. ‘cause black boys are left dead boy.
be balled up boys. be left boned and bone. and brown and brown and brown
and black boys.
pavement smelling boys. left wanting nothing left of black boy.
black boy
dead boy. full of bones boy.
dead boned boy. wanting to be touched by men boy. tear off
the skin cause it reeks of too touchy men
boy. then remove the eyes. follow with mouth. and tongue.
finger. and palm boy.
remember how he felt you up with his palm boy.
iii.
boy.
iv.
you need love boy. cause boys like you are starting to look the same. boys like you are
beginning to look too much like tombstones than boys. like chalk outlines than body. bodied
boy. niggas in bodies boy. nigga’s body boy.
you nigga’s boy.
you every brown boy come before you boy.
v.
black boy burn bring black boy back breathe black boy breathe boy. burn
black boy burn breathe bright blaze boy
black
black
black brown boy bound boy bottom boys be bones be bagged boy
black boys bring boy bright boy being black boy no bright boy be brown boy but
brown boy burn boy ‘bolished boy. black boy
break. boy. brown
boy. no brown
boys
by Lue Hughes
Lue Hughes is the author of the debut poetry collection, A Shiver in the Leaves, (BOA Editions), listed as best books of 2022 in The New Yorker, and the chapbook Touched (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2018), recommended by the American Library Association. She is the founder of Shade Literary Arts, a literary platform for queer writers of color, and co-hosts The Poet Salon podcast with Gabrielle Bates and Dujie Tahat. Her honors include the Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Rosenberg Fellowship, the 92Y Discovery Poetry Prize, Cascade PBS’s Black Arts Legacies honoree, and named Most Influential by Seattle Magazine. Her writing has been published in The Paris Review, Orion, American Poetry Review, and others. She’s been featured in The Seattle Times, Forbes, Essence, KUOW Public Radio, The Slowdown, and more. Lue lives in Seattle where she was born and raised.