Baby of Black
After Sylvia Plath’s poem Thalidomide
O half moon –
Half-me, curiosity –
Negro, skin bathed black and god-like,
Your dark
Shines light upon despair –
Solitude, safety.
What love
What tenderness
Has protected
Me from that shadow –
The indelible men.
Baby knuckles touched to my cheek, the
Face that
Proves motherhood is worth
The stretched
Snake-skin marks of labor.
All night I trace
A space for the thing I am given,
A love
Of two wet eyes and a screech.
Black myth
Oh admiration!
The sweet fruits revolve and take claim.
The world burst open,
The image
Grows and shapes ignorance like loose atoms.
Danielle P. Williams is a poet from Columbia, South Carolina. She is a MFA candidate at George Mason University. Williams is a 2019 Alan Cheuse MFA Fellow, Editorial Coordinator for Poetry Daily, and Poetry Editor for So To Speak.
She strives to write poetry that gives voice to unrepresented cultures, and has a passion for understanding and connecting with the past, making it a point to expand on the narratives and experiences of her own cultures. You can find her poetry published online at Scalawag Magazine, Third Point Press, Praxis Center, and more.
