Break in Fashion Action for Mr. Ocean

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

And now I'm thinking

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