B. J. Wright
The Solo
1. Cadencia
Yesterday,
I heard a trumpet crying
on the Southside.
Its timbre reminded me
of you
and me
and the goodbye
we’ve danced around for months.
It was sunset—of course, it was sunset.
The beginning of the final encore.
You stepped, then.
Slowly—that’s how it always began—
hand
on my back.
Pressing.
I followed. Again.
How do we do this?
Tired and afraid.
I don’t want it to end.
2. Vareador
The first chorus came in March.
My lungs screamed and
my feet bled
but you tripped, first, during
the Promenade.
She caught your eye
and I caught you in a corté,
so my heart wouldn’t touch the ground.
3. Cambio
She took the dancefloor
Driven by the rhythm of the Candombe,
her steps were
quick—
staccato.
She smiled at you,
coyly,
and shined
like a toy you haven’t broken.
Yet.
4. Pinta
Her dress matched the roses you bought me
Valentine’s before last
forced into a vase
too small
with Sunflowers.
Her hair was short
Like you hate it
but her lips were full.
5. Resolución
It was Midsommer
and sunny
and much too hot to cry
when you pulled me into an Abrazo.
I knew it was over, then.
Your moves were too slow–
unsure–
You held me too tight.
How do we do this?
I stepped, then.
How do I stop loving you?
Tired and afraid.
Just because
you hold your breath
doesn’t mean
your heart stops
beating.
Brassy.
Desolate.
Unembellished.
Today,
The trumpet sounded,
again.
Its timbre reminded me
of you
and me
and the end of our tango.
Afterglow
And it’s in that moment
just after sex
when my head
and my hand
rest on your chest
and we lay there—
intertwined—
listening to each other’s heartbeat.
That’s my favorite sound:
your heartbeat dancing in time with mine
as you hold me
and we rave about
Nothing and
Everything:
I had a turkey sandwich for lunch.
I forgot to eat.
How did that happen?
I had a lot going on . . .
Raising Dion is grossly underrated.
Capitalism is terrible, but . . .
But . . . you want to be rich?
Yes, I want to be rich.
Ghosts aren’t real.
How do you know?
I just do.
Do you, really?
Hey?
Hey.
Are you still awake?
Yeah.
And later,
in your unconscious stupor,
you pull my body closer to yours.
hanging on
as if for dear life.
That moment
when you let yourself love me.
And I revel in being loved by you.
Brianna Jordynn “B.J.” Wright is a writer, educator and scholar based in Birmingham, AL. In 2019, she graduated cum laude from the University of Alabama at Birmingham, obtaining her Bachelor's of Arts degrees in Anthropology and African American Studies She is currently pursuing a Masters of Arts degree in Africana Studies from Georgia State University.