He tells me “Hey, Queen!”
as I walk across the street,
bag in hand
Big sunglasses on
melanin Poppin
he looks at me
as if I’m supposed to
acknowledge him
that he noticed
the divinity right
in front of him!
The regal form
dressed in the color
of honey mahogany
in a pair of bad heels —
they make me feel
as if I indeed can
conquer every space.
he looks at me—
and I look at him.
then he says,
“well fuck you then bitch!”
Pause.
I turn.
I look at him,
Feeling my eyeballs become heat rays
as a beam into his chest,
wishing the sizzling
would come from it
some kind of wound
that would open up
and let me see exactly
why he would call me–
something eternal and celestial,
as a monarch–
and then call me a female dog,
when I do not respond
I focus eye heat right
on his chest and
then hearing all
the women of my blood
buzz–
Images of all queens
killers, sharecropers and
Students, them being
Magical and malicious
running through time
taking me with them.
You ain’t gotta respond, but never forget who you are.
I open my mouth
which houses lions
red lips shapely and deadly
The Immortal-Invincible
Answering with assassin speed
Shots never missing.
I am a queen from
parking lot to penthouse.
I am a queen from Barbershop
to bedroom
to board room.
I am a wholeass queen and wholeass problem.
Then, I go to my car,
and slam my door.
breathe deep-
heavy exhaling
so that my crown
can sit on top
of my head
where it always
needs to be.
I don’t leave my throne for peasants.
-JBHarris, 2.2021
I Breathe Fire 