Hanif Abdurraqib
Two POEMS
The Ghost of Marvin Gaye Stands Over His Father’s Grave and Forgets to Ask for an Apology
They ain’t make a religion yet that lets you trade in mercy for more sins. Can you believe the boys these days. They open their mouths & a machine holds their voice. In a balled fist. They ain’t even dancing no more, pop. There ain’t nothing out there for someone lonely to look at & dream about in a corner of a cold bed. I told 'em the belt buckle’s echo along a brick wall was how I learned the mercy of silence. Look at me now. All I got to call my own is quiet. Ain’t no forgiveness for men like us. Ain’t no god in any architecture where we goin’. Only difference between purgatory and hell is whether or not you can see your reflection in the fire, baby and I’m good with what I ain’t got. Wouldn’t know what to do if I could look myself in the eye. I guess I’m saying thank you for opening the door to this eternity. I wasn’t gonna be out here digging a hole for any child I brought into this world. I wasn’t ever trynna bury nothin’ by my own self. I sang that shit that could get somebody free. The women all threw roses at my feet in California until the roses looked like chains.
Man it’s so hard not to act reckless
You cannot serve / two masters / unless they both crave / the same riches / I serve every master / who arrives empty / to my door / I guess I should’ve forgot / where I came / from / all of my idols died / because they took too much / of something into themselves / must be the pharaohs / niggas ain’t make it out the hood / to be buried with only / the dirt / they came out of / heaven’s gate / is a suicide door / my mama couldn’t get through / get fly to get fly / darkness swallowing the afternoon / and still / no one to go home with tonight / except the shadows & / some have teeth / how he stay faithful / in a room / full of ghosts / I am double parked / sideways / outside the collapse / of a country & / didn’t nobody here / fuck with me / ever since my name / became my name / & now I’m too bad / to be governed / by anything sent / from the tip of any devil’s / finger / I’m serious / nigga / I’m talking like / it’s just me / it’s just the mirror / & a day where I am loved / by no one / & if not for our small / rituals / how would we get out / of the house / the question I ask / of the sun slouching / its way in / through the gapped / teeth of morning / is what of myself / I have to sew back / together / in order to face / the aching & vanishing landscape / ain’t a bank account / big enough / for the particular nightmare / in which the world ends / except for the corner of it / where you live / with a person you’ve stopped / loving / wait 'til I get my / money / wait 'til I get /my nothing / right / I couldn’t tell you / who decides wars.
Hanif Abdurraqib is a poet, essayist, and cultural critic from Columbus, Ohio. His first collection of poems, The Crown Ain't Worth Much, was released in 2016 and was nominated for the Hurston-Wright Legacy Award. His first collection of essays, They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us, was released in fall 2017 by Two Dollar Radio.