46.1 Feature: “The Saltwater African says,” by Miles A.M. Collins-Sibley

Feb 15, 2020Feature, Poetry Print

Miles A.M. Collins-Sibley received their MFA in Poetry from UMass-Amherst’s program for Poets & Writers and is currently a PhD student in UMass-Amherst’s African American Studies department. They’re an alum of Winter Tangerine’s Catalyzing Self Revolutions workshop and their poems can be found in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, The Felt, Peach Magazine, poets.org, Split Lip Press’ 2019 Anthology, TRACK//FOUR, Crab Fat Magazine, and Cosmonauts Avenue. You can follow them on Twitter and Instagram @miles_n__miles.

The Saltwater African says,


let’s go down to the gas station to get dollar pies.
The apple kind.
Ghosts don’t give a shit about cholesterol-thick lard crust
or the darkness on the back of my/Babygirl’s/our neck
and between my/hers/our thighs
from too much sugar.
Babygirl says, sure.
                             I stay wrapped in my covers. No. It’s 2 am.
Babygirl waltzes into the 7 minute drive away 24-hr gas station
hand-in-hand with The Saltwater African.
With him, the journey takes seconds.
They buy 2 snack pies (apple),
2 cosmic brownies,
and a blue raspberry Fanta.
Come back with blue teeth and tongue.
Kiss a brownie, sweet, into my mouth and I dream
candy-coated stars.