Thea Matthews is a poet / scholar / activist born and raised in San Francisco, CA. She earned her BA in Sociology where she studied and taught June Jordan’s Poetry for the People. She writes on the complexities of humanity, grief, and resiliency. She has work in the Acentos Review, Atlanta Review, For Women Who Roar magazine, and others. She is a Tin House scholar; and has delivered her poetry at various festivals including Litquake, Lit Crawl, the National Queer Arts Festival, and the Sonido Music Fest. Her first collection of poetry, Unearth [The Flowers], will be published by Red Light Lit Press spring 2020. Find her IG/Twitter/FB: theamatthews_ and www.theamatthews.com from the artist Poetry validates Truth. To see and be seen, feel and be felt, listen and be heard–– poetry honors the body, memory, resiliency of humanity. When I write, I reclaim my voice and feel my own Power. When I write, I see, feel, listen to Spirit. When I write, I join you in love, dialogue, tension. I am no longer alone. I tap into the Source of Strength. Published in For Women Who Roar Magazine, Issue 2 : Power
GARDENIA | Gardenia jasminoides Breathe A call to learn love listen to that if you need to speak Speak rather than resist refine your lungs purify the blood circulating the sun inhale the scent of my evergreen Exhale my forgiveness of dead trees the pollen found only in summer Feel the continuous chant the marching in your veins The army lives within you. RAIN LILIES | Zephyranthes grandiflora One day you’ll read the lines on my face know the lawlessness under my skin in my bones and you’ll know the silence each crevice holds from the black of my blood to the plaque behind molars the scars of finding gold. You’ll see me shine like a glass case of knives and you’ll know the sharpness of each tooth how children speak with knotted tongues how men in power lost control of their hands how bystanders became politicians. I tore skin ran across the plains sought the Pacific rested near redwoods I am the flowers of west wind. FUCHSIA | Fuchsia magellanica Believe me. My cracked lips and stained tongue a burning stomach in a no-backbone bedroom did not deter the swift flight of endurance the remembrance of sweetness of survival. Hummingbirds came once I tasted my tears yet sometimes I still close my eyes to the Sun. I see the glaring red of my florid skin swollen inside irritated infected from pesticides the warmth of invasion of his cold fingers inside. I cry growl slice arteries with teeth. I wrestle with the treachery of men until I twirl prayers into beads of nectar break the hex of hatred ground the betrayal into fertile land. I grow from the whispers of sssshhhh . . . don’t tell no body. Fingers over lips today my mouth like legs rests wide open. Believe me. He knew someone would. Comments are closed.
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