LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs

kombucha

*

at first, longing pacifier. a thumb offers most. the heart tremors among
the first beating. in Paris, i bathed w/ naked women
wrinkled & tart. the heavy postwar memory of fossilized sinks. who 
hides beneath mosaic & tadelakt chipped? i am here to love me. cursed
haunch & dimpled bottom. scrub me spoiled w/ loofah till their
arms tire. my skin, a bright pink cashew refuted by the hearts 
of sons. am i, the only lonely, in this hammam cast out?
commandments & confirmations. haven’t we all been soured?
honor thy father, mother, thy suitor, lover, thy wedded; themselves 
foolish.  foolish you w/ dreams. somehow the movers were never 
booked. bellies never swollen pearls.  in former lives i was all brides.

*

grandmothers rub away who wronged me. three wishes ambered. brides 
don’t keep dirty kitchens.  toes flinch as the Korean woman files. never 
had my feet been tended to. never had anyone present themselves 
as example.  the hammam was peaceful. Oakland’s mani-pedi busy. soured 
pearls roll off my forehead.  doused cheeks clipped nails. teach me? step out
foot soak spoiled. ask for ten minutes more. kneading needs. opened heart. 
in natal i shrink inside the steam seasoned. slurp pineapple tea. pause. my
heels absent callus. shoulders oiled. almond & olive soap. nursed & cursed
few.  in a reoccurring dream, from mommy’s skull, flabs of flesh. she who
cared less for a stiff neck or gouty ankles.  legion of poor unpolished women.
dull moments.  faint blood drifts past one vessel. what secrets am i among?

*

once we lived in a railroad tenement. have dreamt my mommy’s death among
mothers down the block. the shells say to rub her hands like the working women
we never afforded. lotion forearms that work menthol into sibling’s chest. who
on the other side of the curtain? as elbow pressed against shoulder blade, i cursed 
myself for prolonging sores spent on frivolous leisure. all guilt up. water’s weak.
every knot of muscle is as callused as the heart. tearing nerves cry out.
mommy, only mommy scratched my back.  why olive branches never soured
thrashed against the flesh that now sags? into the cold pool i go. the Russians 
immune to steam & hot rocks. is how one releases daytime stories. so simple 
a late bloom or late loving studies.  these are the rituals of the unanointed.   

*

i am the daughter of men. i am the last offspring fathered
by a numbers runner.  apparently.  among
whisperers, gated windows hurried to clear wax out the ears of women. 
ratchet-ass blue jays perched on stoops. stop & stare at this child. who
she favor? Frankie the I-talian or the Porto Riccun? the Jew? 
didn’t even know his true name to be Marion. mommy cursed
the gossip w/ a pinch of snuff, bottom lip tucked.  black spit marks their
paths. cross. broken backs. daughter of cotton pickers & Newports. 
hearts fatty on liquor & crackling salt pork. afterbirth soaks into the grout. 
see?  this here? this where i popped out of mommy. 
the latter contraction came late. thought i was a cramp. 
what to do w/ sitting water? sour limestone useless for a cradleboard.
birth. oh my. what did they, women, daughters of men
swaddle me w/ that afternoon? what was the weather? 
to never feel it? too numbed by spirits? by daughters? by the unwed?

*

the encounter says i am smooth like a baby & butter
that i am a fire hydrant’s valve flushed opened
the sag of my tit slinks into a second’s gap between us
where made noticeble, the morning after, is the trace 
of a saftig body & scent from earlier that day.
i won’t mind it. it’s not for commentary. 
the craft of indifference. what is mine.
what i don’t own.  how dare.   the nerve. 
his mouth. the stench of tobacco. i caution, implore toothpaste
to get the night on.  
his chest is silverback flypaper.  
Murdock & Marvin.  what a duet that would have been.
an osprey overhead carries an unlikely meal. some garden snake.  & the sky
shifts from rainbow marble to shears of Pantone 15-4020.
in the clouds a daughter dreams me. a “plump fine chanteuse.” 
relaxed. spooned & selfish.



LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs is the author of Village and TwERK. She is co-editor of Coon Bidness/SO4. Diggs received a 2020 C.D. Wright Award for Poetry from the Foundation of Contemporary Art, a Whiting Award (2016), and a National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship (2015). She lives in Harlem and teaches at Brooklyn College.