Here’s our May installment of “Bushwick Bohemia Beat Poetry” curated by Bushwick-born poet, Emanuel Xavier. The series features poems by Bushwick residents. This month’s selection was written by Xavier, himself, in honor of Pride Month.
Emanuel Xavier is an LGBTQ History Month Icon and Gay City News Impact Award recipient. He is author of the poetry collections Radiance, Nefarious, If Jesus Were Gay, Americano, Pier Queen, and the novel Christ Like. He was featured on HBO’s Russell Simmons presents Def Poetry, has spoken at The United Nations, was a featured TEDx speaker and was filmed for a documentary on poets from around the world which premiered at the Edinburgh Film Festival.
He continues to perform at colleges and universities throughout the country and his books are often included in LGBTQ and Latino Studies courses.
CHILDREN OF MAGDALENE
There are so many dead pretending to live amongst us now
who belong to a church hidden behind the harvest of hate
which takes us in and blinks us out with ignorant eyes
and condemn us for lying together in the tombs of our beds
while their savior hangs from nails displayed on hollow walls
and our sacrifices are left to hang on fences
bleeding rivers of glory
to wash away the sins of their world
This prejudice is the pain that clouds my eyes
and knots my spine
the scars on the back of my head
engraved by those who reach out open arms
bloodied with hypocrisy, lost dreams, and intangible mantras
those who haunt our daily prayers
with the sounds of oppression
to silence our shepherds with death
because death equals dreams never to be heard of again
and our prophets get no maps to salvation
But the wind will not inherit the echoes of our souls
we will not leave our canvas with unfinished colors
or remain the uninvited children of a lesser God
we will ground our bare feet with toes in soil
listen for the wind chimes in the insanity of life
light candles for our brothers and sisters
from the West Side Highway piers of New York City
to the pulsing dance clubs of Orlando, Florida
to the farm lands of Laramie, Wyoming
to the Castro Streets of San Francisco
and feel the closest we can to heaven
because true love has no boundaries and our angels have wings too
LOS HIJOS DE MAGDALENA
Hay tantos muertos que fingen vivir entre nosotros
que pertenecen a una iglesia oculta tras la cosecha de odio
que nos toma y nos parpadea fuera con ojos ignorantes
y nos condena por acostarnos juntos en las tumbas de nuestras camas
mientras su salvador cuelga de clavos, en vitrina de paredes huecas
y nuestros sacrificios los dejamos colgados en cercas
sangrando ríos de gloria
para quitar los pecados de su mundo
Este prejuicio es el dolor que me nubla mis ojos
y me anuda mi espina
las cicatrices detrás de mi cabeza
grabadas por los que ofrecen brazos abiertos
sangrando de hipocresía, sueños perdidos y mantras intangibles
aquellos que atormentan nuestras oraciones diarias
con los sonidos de opresión
para silenciara nuestros pastores con muerte
porque la muerte iguala sueños que nunca serán escuchados
y nuestros profetas no logran encontrar mapas hacia la salvación
Pero el viento no heredará los ecos de nuestras almas
no dejaremos nuestros lienzos con colores, pero sin acabar
ni quedaremos niños sin invitación de un Dios menor
moleremos nuestros pies descubiertos con los dedos en la tierra
escucharemos las campanillas en la locura de la vida
prenderemos velas para nuestros hermanos y hermanas
desde las muelles de Nueva York
a las discotecas de Orlando, Florida
a las granjas de Laramie, Wyoming
a las calles de Castro, San Francisco
y nos sentiremos lo más cercano posible al cielo
porque el amor verdadero no tiene fronteras
y nuestros ángeles también tienen alas
COVER IMAGE via Wikimedia Commons
