Two poems by Kache’ Attyana Mumford

Showering Again

It’s showering again, though the sparkles of refreshments never touch my skin.

With the sun glittering on the lake, my eyes can’t take in the magic of the downpour.

Instead, my mind draws gnats at the corner of my eyesight, fighting each other in the middle of

the wind’s cry.

Howling, like someone stepped on its tail and won’t grant it reprieve with a belly rub and a quick

treat.

I check the soles of my feet just to make sure I didn’t cause it’s suffering,

but all I see are muddy soles, proof I’m not as clean as I wished to be.

The lake shakes as a wave crashes against the dock like a slip and slide,

and a spirit inside giggles.

It sounds a lot like little me.

I step on the rocks to wipe my feet, but stop as the same giggle parts my lips.

I worry that cleaning my soles might wipe away the last bit of her soul.

So I stand frozen while the showers whips through the air, never touching me.

I would rather be seen unclean, as the wind slaps my sin, than lose myself again.

The City of Bones

I found the city of bones

on a hike that made me worship,

made me bow my head and plead.

The city of bones:

bare necks of trees left exposed

to the wind that slaps

until pieces of them snap.

After all its leaves have left,

fading away into an abyss

I can no longer see.

Maybe the wind has swept its streets

so there will be no sign

that anything else had lived here.

Still, the sunlight hits

its bare, naked body

and makes its skeleton

shine like silver.

And I wonder

if the trees feel broken

and damaged,

bruised by nature and the weather,

or if they were simply born for this—

to live out their season and die,

to shine brighter in death

than they ever could

clouded by the green of life.

Maybe they were born to feel beautiful

in every part of their season,

in every bit of their skin.

They were to remind us

the dead can still rise again.

For some bodies

have to be stripped bare

before they finally feel

what it’s like to live.

Kache’ Attyana Mumford is a poet, playwright, drama therapist, and educator. Her work explores landscape, memory, spirituality, and the body. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Ana, Cathexis Northwest Press, Allium, Vermilion, and Budin: The McNeese Review. She is an artist-in-residence at Caldera Arts and an Emory University African American History & Culture Research Fellow.