SOon COme
Worn hands, spade-like,
Clawing through humus and topsoil.
Knuckles, skinless,
Boring deeper into the horizon.
While my blood still courses, I will do what I must:
Find the bedrock, unsheath your letter-opener,
Lay our wedding picture flat, slice open the seed packets.
Hog potato, breadroot, taro, shallots, and yams–
Honor your palate, forever pragmatic.
However, this final sowing is beauty and diligence, paired.
A widower’s wildflower mix:
Black nebula carrots, purple salsify,
Albino beets, golden globe turnips, and
Porcelain garlic.
I return the soil to the surface,
Leaving this soon come feast below.
The spring air stings my eyes.
I wince, against my will
You unplugged the machines, removed the tubes.
Smile untethered,
Cirrus eyes in a dry pillow,
Almost cloudlike.
Heaving onto my back, I am resolved for the wake.
Turkey vultures descend,
Each with mouths to feed,
This volt moves swiftly through mourning.
I often dreamt my love would bury me gently.
Sprinkle black earth atop my chest,
Read a red clay scripture, sing hymns, and share a eulogy with the keepers of this hollow:
Loblolly pines and worn red oaks–bursting with woodrats.
Finally, close with a prayer and a kiss, for the storms to come.
Instead, my bared body browns in the early April sun.
Under spiders’ surveillance, lost beetles wander through my brittle beard.
Fox kits nibble the remaining flesh from my ribs,
Their mother sniffs the perimeter.
The ground feels ripe.
Clawing through humus and topsoil.
Knuckles, skinless,
Boring deeper into the horizon.
While my blood still courses, I will do what I must:
Find the bedrock, unsheath your letter-opener,
Lay our wedding picture flat, slice open the seed packets.
Hog potato, breadroot, taro, shallots, and yams–
Honor your palate, forever pragmatic.
However, this final sowing is beauty and diligence, paired.
A widower’s wildflower mix:
Black nebula carrots, purple salsify,
Albino beets, golden globe turnips, and
Porcelain garlic.
I return the soil to the surface,
Leaving this soon come feast below.
The spring air stings my eyes.
I wince, against my will
You unplugged the machines, removed the tubes.
Smile untethered,
Cirrus eyes in a dry pillow,
Almost cloudlike.
Heaving onto my back, I am resolved for the wake.
Turkey vultures descend,
Each with mouths to feed,
This volt moves swiftly through mourning.
I often dreamt my love would bury me gently.
Sprinkle black earth atop my chest,
Read a red clay scripture, sing hymns, and share a eulogy with the keepers of this hollow:
Loblolly pines and worn red oaks–bursting with woodrats.
Finally, close with a prayer and a kiss, for the storms to come.
Instead, my bared body browns in the early April sun.
Under spiders’ surveillance, lost beetles wander through my brittle beard.
Fox kits nibble the remaining flesh from my ribs,
Their mother sniffs the perimeter.
The ground feels ripe.
Saleem Hue Penny is a Chicago-based 'rural hip-hop blues' artist, with strong ties to Pisgah Forest, NC, and deep roots in Monck's Corner, SC.
His work seeks to reclaim the pastoral moments embedded in urban landscapes. He explores how young adults of color traverse wild spaces and come to define freedom, shelter, community, and solitude on their own terms.
He utilizes electronic music, collage painting, and improvisational performance to punctuate his poetry.
His work seeks to reclaim the pastoral moments embedded in urban landscapes. He explores how young adults of color traverse wild spaces and come to define freedom, shelter, community, and solitude on their own terms.
He utilizes electronic music, collage painting, and improvisational performance to punctuate his poetry.