bare
by mace dent johnson
after giorgio agamben
for the sake of argument I fly home. I go to sleep. I wake up
and walk out my back door and keep walking until I find
a sizeable enough tobacco field. I walk to the middle of
the field and sit down. I take off my shoes. I take off my
socks. I wriggle my toes in the dirt for hours until the red
clay is a thin paste. I take off my shirt and wait years
for it to become tattered. I die. I plunge my not black
index finger into the not red clay and with it I write
the word agency across my bare chest. what does it matter.
there’s a body at the bottom of the ocean with my name on it
but I’m still in love. don’t nobody in my family know how
to pronounce our name but we all still cute. all make
a mean cornbread. ha ha. forget it. it’s a bad joke.
e.j. and big matt ’nem say it’s not that deep.
you dump enough shit into the ocean it’ll come back and
getchya. you blow enough smoke in the sky’s face it’ll
rain down on you. grandmama never said that but she
might as well have. besides. you don’t know ella mae
you don’t know shit about resistance. you don’t
know ella mae you can’t even talk. you ever seen
a whole family burn down? you ever seen a collards pot
like an armored tank? you ever tasted her neckbones? I said
forget it. the only difference between a body and a life is how
long you look at it. the only difference between a body and a fire
escape is how long it takes to get to the other side. what’s the
point of a word anyway. what does your talk matter. what’s
one big white guess against a hot comb umbilical chord.
it’s simple. y’all think jesus died for us too or not.
for the sake of argument I fly home. I go to sleep. I wake up
and walk out my back door and keep walking until I find
a sizeable enough tobacco field. I walk to the middle of
the field and sit down. I take off my shoes. I take off my
socks. I wriggle my toes in the dirt for hours until the red
clay is a thin paste. I take off my shirt and wait years
for it to become tattered. I die. I plunge my not black
index finger into the not red clay and with it I write
the word agency across my bare chest. what does it matter.
there’s a body at the bottom of the ocean with my name on it
but I’m still in love. don’t nobody in my family know how
to pronounce our name but we all still cute. all make
a mean cornbread. ha ha. forget it. it’s a bad joke.
e.j. and big matt ’nem say it’s not that deep.
you dump enough shit into the ocean it’ll come back and
getchya. you blow enough smoke in the sky’s face it’ll
rain down on you. grandmama never said that but she
might as well have. besides. you don’t know ella mae
you don’t know shit about resistance. you don’t
know ella mae you can’t even talk. you ever seen
a whole family burn down? you ever seen a collards pot
like an armored tank? you ever tasted her neckbones? I said
forget it. the only difference between a body and a life is how
long you look at it. the only difference between a body and a fire
escape is how long it takes to get to the other side. what’s the
point of a word anyway. what does your talk matter. what’s
one big white guess against a hot comb umbilical chord.
it’s simple. y’all think jesus died for us too or not.
mace dent johnson is a queer and trans black writer from the south. They received their MFA in poetry from Washington University in St. Louis in 2021, where they went on to serve as the Senior Poetry in Residence. They are a Cave Canem and Watering Hole fellow. mace writes about precious objects, heartbreak, blackness, and the natural world. They also work in collage, essay, and theater.