Heartache in Remission by
M i c a h To r e y P a r k e r
Dedication This book of poems is dedicated to my mother who consoled me in my time of grief and sadness during and after the production of this poetic collection. A Black woman who saw through to make sure I was okay. A Black woman who I admire because of her sacrifice of time, energy, and spirit to ensure the safety of my well-being. To a fierce warrior unlike no other who stood beside me in my times of darkness. The moments where I wanted to give up, but didn’t. The voids I covered, but she unmasked to live and tell that things were going to be okay. There’s nothing in this world more candid than the Black woman. For that, I am thankful.
iv
An ode is like a soft silhouette that dances on the tongue, living to tell on an intergenerational story passed down from my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother — — Micah Torey Parker
Preface Herein lies the heart of the matter of darkness and plight. Pages upon pages where the soul takes lead and tears run off my face. Forming puddles of stanzas and words; precarious emotions. Lines that sustain both life in death and death in life. Pieces of the soul broken into shards that cut my lips which bleed out into stories of recovery through pain and sorrow. Herein lies the heart of the matter, of darkness: the inability to sleep. Therein, the retention of deep waters become misguided by love or a lack thereof. This is a space where my shadows become ignited by flames through the act of processing in theory and practice, treading lines of revelation. I implore you the reader to dive headfirst into my world, and see what I saw to break what is broken and to build and destroy again.
vii
for the ancestral mothers both here and gone who light the way. for the Black women who permeate every aspect of my life. for the mute to become outspoken. for the spirits that walk with me to rejoice. for the pain that produced art. for the tender love and care from community. thank you.
ix
Such fondness withered by destructive afterthoughts both in memory and loss.
He Knows Me By Name
‘Til Spirit Do Us Part
I was still in my intimacies. I fell into myself. A soft, gentle abyss of darkness swamped by the iridescent glow of my demons.
We both departed from each other. Depressed, countless nights spent wrestling through sheets as I continued switching between the fetal and natal position.
Therein I lied, drowned in my thoughts and unfinished memories. Fond memories of your eyes as they whipped the sides of my face as my body lied in still motion. I was captivated, but I was torn. Conflated by your transgressions, elated by your presence, but distant because of the baggage you carried. Insofar, I fled.
I would lie there. I wondered where the buck had stopped. I wondered where the thread was cut. I wondered where the love was lost. I made nicks on the walls of my eyes. I counted, and recounted the times I wandered in pain. I drowned myself in pools of sorrow and query. I was unable to fathom the loss of another both in spirit and intimacy.
As time passed our spirits converged. I reimagined myself in your embrace. Two bodies, physical and spiritual beings. Materialized diasporas created from within an intellectual conclave. I cried of this departure of body and spirit. To know that it was nor ever meant to be.
2 | Heartache in Remission
Heartache in Remission | 3
And even though I gave you parts of me, I would rather drown in my tears, and suffocate underwater before confessing my love to you (again).