“FULL MOON”, A LOVE STORY BY JASMINE COMBS
Where there is a woman there is magic. If there is a moon falling from her mouth, she is a woman who knows her magic.
― Ntozake Shange, Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo
I have made an ordeal of icing and arranging the cupcakes cones. When Mariama sees that I have removed her Keurig k-cups from their display stand and am replacing them with the pastries, she nods with a motherlike approval. Mariama bakes these cupcakes in icecream cones for every party. Najwa paces back in forth in her kente patterned overalls, trying to decide where to hang the last poster. On it, her looping handwriting has inscribed Down With The Patriarchy in purple glitter glue. Kayla hangs a large tapestry in Brandon’s room (the only access to the backyard) to hide his bed while a bushel of dried sage burns to expunge his cis-het male energy…and sweaty foot odor of his room. Boxed wine lines the coffee table. Trap music spills softly from the borrowed speakers. And we prepare for the moon.
line dance floor,
A hip swaying sage smoke
calling back of every spirit
that came before.
And sound is black.
And music is woman.
And body is a lifetime of