Michelle Seabreeze



This is home

And we've been breathing in tandem
For over a year now 

With the sun kissing our shoulders, 
these blankets become a jar, or ajar, 
and simultaneously, we are fireflies

Our hands flutter like wings
across every inch of bare skin
Our lips are swimming through the soft
until we are reaching the undiscovered parts
and making mental maps of each freckle and pore
Because we are devouring and storing
this new information like honey
in our own personal hive of intimate excess

And then we camp here
raise our flags, and leave marks
because we are coming back
to this place where there is
no space between us

Because in this room with him
my heart is in the right place
in his hands
on my sleeve
beating fast

And who knew that this superhero
with the Christmas eyes would be the one
to save me from a world of orderly chaos
With constant calm, and easy gaze
he holds my hand
kisses my face
and tells me he knows me
and because he knows me
he loves me

Between us
We are not afraid of secrets, 
and a beautiful bubble
wraps itself around our four walls, 
because we are acutely and insanely
protective of the space between us 

Because this space is home, 
but only when we're together



A child’s hand reaches out
From beneath the brick and dust
tiny fingers flickering in the wind
Like dried leaves

The blood dripping from her mouth
Consecrates concrete like holy water
Freezing into the shape of a birthstone
at the base of her feet

While full fat faces
watch from faraway
on flat screens
A broken people
Framed by fire and ash

There never was
A clearer picture
Of anguish
Than the one broadcast
On HD screens 

They tune in to see
The liberated kin of Toussaint L’Overture’s
Ancient bloodline of ready lips  
make the shape of Oh No
Before God

While we watched in safe havens,
Mothers collect
pieces of their children like keepsakes
spinning Creole into cocoons
of goodbye for now

Before this
we were looking in every direction
waiting for a disaster that wasn’t our own
until we found it
shaking us to the core

But when tears flow
Like mud slides down bellies
We search for a resolution
That would expand
diminishing waistlines
and fill the empty nets
in this land of
Fishermen, religion, and cane fields

While bone and flesh pile high
Like wood and steel
Lovers lay broken
under blood-stained sheets
and mouths that once housed smiles
that were the pride of a nation
are now bent, and torn, and burned away

These descendants of rebels
that were born with closed fists
who fought wild, with angry hearts
who once danced in their freedom
on the mountain’s edge
Are now taking their places
In this dark spotlight

When the cameras roll
You can almost see
the souls pass on
Before being buried by midnight

As puffy pigtails peek through
Mounds of dirt like stillborn flowers
In graves floating on fields
Likes boats to an afterlife

This new concrete jungle
Can’t muffle cries of anguish
That carry across horizons
And spill into oceans
Like a plague of epic proportions

This is the horror of
global warming
After an earthquake of forgetting
What won’t cater to our fantasies

One day
It might be our turn
to keep our hands out
and wait
until we can hold onto to someone
We’ve never met before
and tell them, like we are telling ourself
to hold on to what you love, 
like you are possessed
By a voodoo curse that forces
you to care
about every child
Like they were the world
before it came crumbling down


MICHELLE was born and raised in Philadelphia, PA. She was a contributing writer and performer with the spoken word collective New Street Poets, featured at the NY Fringe Festival, Busboys & Poets, and Brown University

She has been a featured poet at The Inspired Word All-Stars and The Rimes of the Ancient Mariner. 

She loves the writing life.