Bury My Clothes

By Roger Bonair-Agard

Bury My outfits, a finalist for the 2013 nationwide booklet Award for poetry, is a meditation on violence, race, and where in artwork at which they intersect. Art—specifically in oppressed communities—is approximately survival, Roger Bonair-Agard asserts, and setting up personhood in a global that says you will have none. via poetry, we rework either the area of artwork and the area itself.

Roger Bonair-Agard is a Cave Canem fellow, two-time nationwide Poetry Slam Champion, and writer of Tarnish and Masquerade and Gully. He has seemed 3 times on HBO’s Def Poetry Jam and is Co-founder and creative Director of the LouderARTS undertaking in New York.

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Rudy and that i leap into my mother’s Datsun 120Y. I’ve had my boy round the corner Sean track it up a bit. Sean builds automobiles or modifies until eventually they fly, so i admire the little touches he can wear, the way it leaps like a dolphin whilst I step at the fuel. We take the again manner, up via Maraval, in the course of the Northern diversity and the evening, to visit Diego Martin to select up Rudy’s different pardner. We hustle alongside the black, slim roads, me gearing down and accelerating via bends, for the joys up to attempting to make up time. We cease at a snackette alongside the best way and decide up 3 Carib, and that i cradle the chilly beer in my lap in among equipment alterations. We head again over the mountain once we choose up Rudy’s boy. We head round the savannah, up over girl younger highway, for the curves, for the hills and steep drops. We’re going to get Dave, and once we pull up in entrance Dave’s residence on Pasea major highway, he’s ready already out in entrance his father’s rum store. He has a bottle of Vat 19 in his hand, and he's effortless in his gradual leaned ahead gait as he walks. Dave remains to be the captain of the West Indies early life squad. We nonetheless count on him to develop into an opener for West Indies in the subsequent five years. every little thing is golden in our expectancies, simply because we're Trinidadians and the one time I’ve ever noticeable a typhoon was once in 1974, and that i got here outdoors in it simply because not anyone inspiration it used to be too harmful for a 6-year-old to move out onto the gallery to determine the typhoon; simply because we’re liming. Coconuts are bullets during the air, thrown from a few mammoth invisible hand rifling the ball in from additional hide. bushes are javelins down Trinity highway, yet miraculously no one’s home is destroyed in our village. not anyone is killed. We liming, and now we’re going to the DJ conflict. by the point we park and jogging in it’s hour of darkness. We taking our time stroll­ing in simply because we can’t glance too apprehensive. We can’t appear like we battling it. we need to appear like we belong, like is simply so we movement, cool, cool. I’m searching for Gail, yet making an attempt to not appear like I’m looking for Gail. yet then Gail steps out of the murky darkish of the occasion and she’s smiling that smile. She’s donning an identical burgundy floor-length skirt and halter best that sweeps up over her ideal collarbones and round her neck the place it’s tied. And her ideal stomach is uncovered all the way down to the place her skirt hangs onto her ideal hip bones, and she’s smiling that smile, and I’m nonetheless enjoying it cool, simply because my pardners are assembly her for the 1st time and that i can consider Rudy freeze with awe and Dave’s chuckle develop into a fearful chortle and as I bring it to mind, Gail is much more cool and assured than i'm. She walks up and slides her hands round my neck, kisses me lightly on my mouth and I’m hoping that by way of the tip of tonight Gail might be my female friend, yet it’s early and the DJs haven’t even set free but. For a humans completely unafraid of hurricanes, it’s striking how a lot we’re consistently trying to find rain. we will be able to scent it coming. We don’t are looking to be in it. We constantly wish look after from the rain, however it won't cease the lime.

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