bottom teeth distract me.
If I ever questioned whether the diamonds were there,
they’re there.
You’re all kinds of beautiful.
And if that’s not a word I can use, you’re resplendent, numinous, healthy.
I am two months pregnant.
Monday this premiere, Tuesday this article, Wednesday
my first ultrasound, with my child’s boneless arms in motion.
A memory I didn’t know I could have.
Thursday I write—If I have a daughter, you can hold her. A son, too.
The two of you, tied to this week in my life.
jesus walks
KANYE WEST, “Jesus Walks,” line 6 of verse 1
HA HA HUM
In the chorus of one of my favorite songs are three throat-clearing sounds—
sometimes depicted as Ha Ha Hum
on lyrics websites such as azlyrics.com, lyricstime.com, and anysonglyrics.com.
A sound we make when we talk with the mouths of Jews.
Channukah, l’chaim, chutzpah.
Voiceless fricative.
Russians have a letter for it. In block, an x, in Cyrillic, two c’s back to back.
In the words, good, chorrosho, and bad, plocho.
They have other letters I love, for sh, tss, sht, szh, yoo.
The sound Kanye makes—it’s not unlike the French r.
How my name falls back into the mouth like it’s collapsing.
Sa-cha.
In Russian, the r would roll, as when my great-grandmother said her name,
as when my great-grandfather called to her.
My name means princess in Hebrew.
Kanye’s means the only one in Swahili.
A language once written in Arabic script, now written with letters like ours.
Switched in the 1800’s. Trying for sounds like nz and nd, to begin words.
The mouths we speak with are hidden by our other mouths.
HEARTBREAK
The couple, who have dated on and off since 2002, got engaged over a lobster and pasta dinner during a vacation on the island of Capri in August 2006.
How does People magazine know this?
I hate to say things look like butterflies, but what should I say—the island
looks like motion? Like a liver?
It’s an island.
You proposed to her and it looks like a butterfly.
The Italian map, covered in via, via, via. The Italian mountain. Citrus and gulls. I have never been to Italy, let alone to Capri. And I have never been to an island so small.
When the New York Times reporters write about 808s & Heartbreak, they write how it came after “ ” with the death of his mother in late 2007 and, in early 2008, breaking up with his fiancée.
They don’t name her. Alexis Phifer.
If Alexis is the woman in “Heartless,” in the video, thank you
for covering her dress in stars.
I have planned my wedding—sent the invitations, tasted all the cakes, bought my dress, named for its sweetheart top, and sparkling. My mother has rsvP’d.
I got engaged in the courtyard of a museum in Philadelphia—Museum of
Archaeology and Anthropology.
Mummies resting
behind us, and sculptures from China.
The past pushes us.
I lament what you have lost even if you do not still love her.
I think of all the coves of Capri—Cala del Lupinaro, Cala del Rio, Cala di Mezzo, Cala Spravata, Cala Marmolata, Cala di Matermania. And Kapros, meaning wild boar.
LIKE THE POEMS DO
I ask,
“Who’s that?”
and Noah answers,
“Mos Def.”
“Is Kanye rapping like Snoop Dogg there?”
“No. His jaw is wired shut.”
Another song,
“Is that Common?”
“Yes. They’re friends. They’re both from Chicago.”
Noah’s been listening
to rap since middle school. He used to make tapes
off the radio and listen to them until they broke.
I grew up saying, I listen to everything but country
and rap.
Recently, I spent another evening researching Kanye.
This time
about his 2004 debut album, College Dropout.
“Through the Wire” came out fast, without permission for the sample of Chaka Khan’s “Through the Fire.”
I tell Noah. We’re on our computers,
across the room.
He pulls up Khan’s song; I pull up Kanye’s music video.
The room is a mess of sound.
I tell Noah how Kanye kisses his hand, places it
on
