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