As fashion obsessed as we are, I thought it would be nice to take a brief break, and provide a little poetry with this post.
Dear young Brother Ocean:
Sometimes, I listen to you sing,
I listen to the way the sweet,
harmonic ring of
your falsetto
reverberates
like wavelengths
cresting and troughing
through masses of
metaphysical
planes of popularity
and it
makes
me want to both laugh
and cry
at the same
time,
sometimes, I wonder just
what to say
to you right now,
because you are the
product of Genius
and Jim Crow--
star-crossed lovers
who married quick,
loved hard,
and died young,
because while they loved
each other intensely,
they knew
their love was
was to remain hidden,
was forever to
be expressly forbidden,
but you and me, we, know
something about forbidden
love, don't we?
the kind of love that
you put on to
a kite string
and fly above the
atmosphere so high
only
you and your
lover know is there
because every now
and then your love
sails high and
pulls and tugs
your arm,
The kind of love that
meets in dingy Paris
cafes away from
conventional, prying
eyes
and laughs about
how silly Americans
and their hang-ups about
sex and us, are,
over
cappuccino brown
as we be,
The kind of love that
you gather up in
armfuls off your
living room couch and
shove
into your bedroom closet
just until your parents
are done visiting,
But, I had hoped for
something different
for you.
had hoped there would
be no more kite strings,
no more cafes, no more closets...
for you.
I spent my nights
lurking, lurching,
loving in the shadows,
fighting battles and
entire wars of
both silence
and bravery
on fronts and
theaters
that I bravely
decided to keep
between me and me,
and every now and
then, we
would send messages
of our essence--
muted monogamy,
encrypted like
double consciousness
in slave work songs,
that lubricated
all, of my work,
They love me now,
but for years,
they considered me
the young and rebellious
Turk,
The Negro hooligan
jerk who loved
America, Harlem
and Black folk
enough to pass them
tough love letters
through trusted friends,
saying "Do you
like yourself check 'yes'
or 'no'
the cat who would
go to the ends of
the earth to make
the America
millions were
migrating to,
the same
America that
actually was.
For all of us
about you, young brother.
Your first step was awkward,
and scary, and lonesome,
but your next step and every
other one after that
will be alright
because, I am walking
with you.
Ever yours,
Langston Hughes
