Category Archives

Archive of posts published in the category: prose

into my bones

i flow into my bones my blood smooths rocks         water is crimson it moves without veins         inside my bones live roots dark brown crying flesh of The Lost People         deep inside sunless soil the worms of my skin         Dust reaches for sky and…

the ruins

I am like the wildebeest in your dreams Search the ruins for my ghost There you will find me         flesh and blood returned                 digging through the rubble for my ancestors My nails bend and break I bleed from fingers that cannot move the…

inside myself

Find me inside myself. Search there. Sometimes I’ll hide behind my cousin who died when I was about 14 years old. Or my sister who died 9 years ago. There you will also find me searching for my grandmother and stepfather, who both…

wise teeth

I had a wisdom tooth removed yesterday. It was the last of five. The first one angrily awakened me in the middle of the night demanding to be extracted from its dark cave. The pain was memorable. I was 27 years old and…

mermaid-ness

Sometimes the seaweed gets into my kinky black hair I forget for a moment that I’m not a mermaid But when I lie to myself and try to live my mermaid-ness it’s because in the sea, I can be free There is no…

blistered soul

My feet are blistered like my blue soul Shoes don’t fit what’s inside me They try to cover wounds that soak through black socks Dark with revealing holes My Brown skin shows through The blisters are sometimes a welcome pain where shadows of…

vintage

Today is the past. This moment belongs to the ancestors. Now is the sepia moment; and a thousand years from now many will look back and call this age vintage. © zaji, 2016

dark tracks

i walk barefoot on dark tracks the cold steel is warmed by the hot summer sun my feet and toes learn the dance the tracks carry history of times when men poured sweat to nail ties across miles of native land the tracks…

fleeting thoughts about mama

My grandmother died in a bed, in a room, in a house, in the North Bronx, in New York, in America, far from her island of birth, Jamaica, West Indies. She wanted to be buried there, on a small hill amidst jackfruit and…

the conjure woman

i don’t want to be a writer. i don’t want to tell my stories that come only from memory. i want to be a conjure woman. my medicine bag filled with ink. i want to conjure waiting ghosts from the past and tell…

the rose

He placed a rose on her headstone In the mornings she was awakened by the smell of a rose placed on her pillow He knew that if he waited the rose would rouse her from her slumber The story on her headstone would…

crazy story #1 (turning orange)

I could feel it happening. It was after midnight. My fingers were orange and my hair began turning orange. I had a wild urge to lay in the grass. I was turning into a pumpkin. I was flopping around on one lonely shoe.…

excerpt from a work in progress #1

I was born beneath Cuba, across the waters of the West Indies on an island that lives and breathes Bob Marley. It was 1967. While papa, my grandfather, was mending the house he’d built with his bare hands, civil rights marches were happening…

the rebellion

Writing Prompt: One at a Time Today, write a post about the topic of your choice — using only one-syllable words. To be stuck with words that have one piece, just one sound, is odd. It is like my life force is in jail, trapped by…

the moon

I look out the window at the big white moon, full, pregnant with life. Gray clouds pass. The sky light dims. The witch in me seeks frankincense and myrrh and words that create magic. I speak them to the moon, offering them like…

a fridge abused

Writing Prompt: Wronged Objects If your furniture, appliances, and other inanimate objects at home had feelings and emotions, to which item would you owe the biggest apology? How exciting that my prompt was used today. My intention is to read everyone’s post. As for…

writing what resonates

Writing what others want to hear doesn’t resonate with me. There is a scratching and tearing at the mind, like a thing that begs to be set free. The very thought conjures cages and prison bars. I begin to feel trapped in a…

words in bits and bytes

It’s 2014. Attached to my old dusty hard drive is a note to whomever finds it when, possibly, my flesh is dust. Time moves forward, hurrying through a hundred, then two hundred years of peaks and valleys in human existence. The year is…

waiting in the night

Everyone was thirsty, but no one wanted to walk down the long corridor toward the kitchen, not even Marie. The fridge was only a few terrifying feet away and inside was cool water that would easily quench their thirst. But it was a…

the playground

There was no wind. Laughter floated through still air. Little voices tossed giggles at each other then tagged, skipped and climbed. Each caught the other’s giggle, which transformed into screams of delight. At night, the swing sat lonely, unmoving, longing to be touched…

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