My short story’s called “Shoe Man”, is unanimously (if I may say so myself) loved, short and sweet, and can be read online here over at the July issue of Expanded Horizons.
“Contemplation” was originally published in the Cascadia Subduction Zone in July of 2016:-
One African night,
Worn of living, tired of not dying,
feeling deep within my heart
the absolute certainty I did not fit
into the grand scheme,
I raised my face skyward,
regarded the black-skinned sky,
the black-skinned universe,
black-skinned me,
and dug myself an early grave.
She laughed at me, her lips luscious
red as blood,
red as the blood we drank,
red as the blood we need,
…She laughed at me then
And told me all I would find if I buried myself
was that Mother Earth had not abandoned me,
Undead child of the moon that I was.
In the grave, I turned my face
from sky, from moon, from her,
to the earth,
and waited on eternity
for the answer.
Meanwhile, as human civilization went on and on,
Trees’ roots embraced me, surrounding my arms, legs,
rich loam attached to my eyelashes.
Peace whispered secrets, leaching, into my bones,
filling my emptiness, and I knew
this was the answer.
At length I rose with the African moon, empowered
with what I was – a creature of the Earth like any other.
She was nowhere to be found, but black-skinned men
pounded spikes, hammered tracks
intended to cross the continent, they told me
everything controlled by pale-skinned men, who miser’d knowledge
and had guns.
One approached me, deferring to me, elder to eldest.
I lifted my head to the black-skinned sky,
the black-skinned universe, child of the moon that I was,
a new purpose bestowed,
and set out to give oppressors terror, and to men, freedom.
The Architect of Bonfires was originally published in 2016 in Space and Time Magazine, Issue #127 (also nominated for a Rhysling Award):-
The Architect of Bonfires
Weaves magic to and fro
He knows the art of fire
Makes one for cooking just so.
The Architect of Bonfires
Is a “witch doctor”, a Wise Man
And sees the same potential
In a scared, approaching woman…
The Architect of Bonfires
Divines her tale without being told
He comforts her with soup –
A remedy of old
He admires her midnight skin
Putting his darkness to shame
Marvels at her stark white hair
He knows exactly what’s her fear –
The chaos, the destruction that ensues
When she creates fire out of thin air
She comes now requesting aid
And aid he will gladly give
Yet she will return for magical skills
Not just to survive but to thrive, live
Suspense, danger,
coming to terms with her magic,
personal tests – all that lies in her future
– but for now, some hearty soup will suit her
Just fine
From the Architect of Bonfires
