JUBRIL BADMUS

Fragment

Then came the third strike and it was Jazz,
mother of sounds. I squeezed myself
to belong where the multitude pointed at,
godhead spaces, unhinged and prideless.
And you spoke to me again, despite
the third strike, warning me of being black
without pride, this cool jazz without riffs,
reifying my happenstance. You taught me
how to become again and when I did, I became
with pride, my first brunt was visited upon you.
This is how far gone I am: Inside my
imagination is another, and within that is you,
only half-remembered; a sensitive fern
wallowing in a soulless wind, sailing south.

Jubril Badmus is a writer from Ibadan, West Africa. A current MFA candidate at Texas State University. He is the Reviews Editor at Porter House Review. He split his time between Austin and all other places.