skin deep
BY NKOSI NKULULEKO
Pardon the black water
in the sink, restless &
tyrannical in its wading.
The plate’s shellacked
face folds into my own,
reflects another face I
have inherited these past
few years. The faucet
runs endlessly, so fluid
with brisk pace, it seems
to almost be entering the
mouth of which it exits.
I look into the water, now
blackened from a series
of elements like foam &
foreign liquid making its
home in this metal bowl,
factory of carved ceramics
& glass forms. I heard the
spoon bends when we can
deny its existence but of
course you can’t deny this:
race, so permanent upon
ourselves, it becomes our
own tombstone with names.
I once tried to drown my
skin & be human without it.
Jump in, said the knife &
I did, through the soap, slick
debris of white foam, glazing
this fine black creek. I dived
skin first, then the body,
wading, wading, waiting
for something to clean me.
