Sybil the Scribe (they/them)

 cadeaux du soleil et de la lune: the returning

The blue smoke of my cigarette sneaks pass my septum/ something about the desperate cloud knows this is the last time/ la création est l'aventure/ through the mist and darkness offer notice/ the master numbers appear/ rebuking the bare minimum is a surgical task/ I taint not the melanin in my skin/ I almost missed the wood crackle/ le petit chat se souvient/ transformation a reflection of power/

as the language leaves my body: I understand the wisdom offered

You tried it.

I am a culmination

Of all the labours it

Took to build me.

But I knew no love

Like this one.

The one that bathes

Dries the skin that

Holds. & rubs you

Down with Shea Butter.

This is the love I’ve been

Growing to appreciate

& recognition has arrived.

An American elegy

To the strikes

Of watching yourself change.

The bead princess left Virginia for beloved

Early sky kisses melanin/ ink’s promise

Pressure shows you the birth’s poem

dendrochronology changes course pierced misdirections guidance

Cracked nipples meet lips: life force

Solemnity: Gold blushes when she enters

If the gift cannot listen: leave

Pallet desk: telescope captures rings falling

You asked for devotion: node nome

Scribes script saintly squishes slight squeals

Keys to the blueprint return to kemet