Five Poems by Tessara Dudley

 

Under An Ancient Curse

 

on the borderlands between

a thing and its antithesis

I encountered a crow—

or was she a crone?

seen from the corner

of one eye or the other

this crow crone seemed

to flicker and flux

at once a witch woman

and a winged thing

wild and whirling

or still-silent waiting

I offered her my name—

for such things hold power—

and she gave me in turn

waking dreams and fits

when I see through

the thin world around me

to the truest things beyond 

 

the tower

 

the ticking clock counts my days

an inexorable march to the grave

a passing of seconds

that trickle through grasping hands

bells proclaiming each hour that passes

announcing the next day

            and the next

robbing me of that simple joy:

the peace of unknowing

            of happiness unwaning

            worlds unwanting

the sorrows and summers of childhood

adulthood stretching away

under hot suns and pelting rains

turning me inside out

to face each fresh dawn

with curiosity             and woe

and the burden of learning

            my own mortality

                        once more 

 

A Love Poem But Truer

 

it is a dozen eggs

a basketful of bread

and a bouquet of herbs

 

her kitchen was warm

her voice even warmer

a laugh booming back

from the white walls

and raising the loaf

with its heat and fire

 

we danced the light edges of this kingdom

a joyous domain with

high windows and high

ceilings and high spicy thrills

in songs of descent 

 

Home

 

my lips shape new hope in my gentled mouth

is there a place where the broken dreams go

if they travel south and then further south

seeking a land that has been left fallow

where nightmares were the last harvest allowed

before abandoning the ravaged ground

cares tucked away til they could not be found

no casual search will expose these seeds

only devotion like most loyal hounds

can plant the relief these broken dreams need 

 

my body is a list II

 

my body is a list

except when it’s not

sometimes it is a broken clock

right twice a day

I write my thoughts

like prayers prepared

for offering

now, dearest, surely

this suffering is enough

 

I am suspended

in the moment just

before the magic trick

is revealed

before we know if the

lovely assistant has been sawn

in half

as the audience holds their breath

so is my body a question

the answer to which

is never quite uncovered

Tessara Dudley is a Black queer poet, a working-class disabled femme, and a bonus parent to a rambunctious young one. Tessara has published poetry in Sun Star Review, Wordgathering, The Black Napkin, and Words Dance. Their poems have also appeared in anthologies published by Minerva Rising, Zoetic Press, and 9 Bridges Press. Tessara’s first poetry collection, Fallen/Forever Rising, was published in 2015. After taking time off to finish their schooling and raise a child, they are currently working on a second poetry collection.