Bronze Beans

for women.

What do you do when you cook beans and have remnants?

I’ll tell you what I do.

I mix it with garri, a lot of sugar and some vegetable oil.

And then, I fry it.

The result is delicious, but its taste isn't my favorite thing.

What I love the most and what calls me back to it is its colour. Strange, I know.

To simply call it "golden brown" would be sacrilege; like mistaking Michael Jackson for Prince or comparing the light of the moon to the sun itself.

Its color is the sun.

It's a hue of brown that is so golden, it almost seems orange. Or yellow. Or whatever you might call it.

I love that it puzzles me, provokes my contemplations like a philosophical question not yet fathomed.

It is the color of her skin.

This golden brown. Or is it yellow? Maybe I should call it bronze.

It is why I gaze upon her, lost in a world that is entirely hers.

She never hides behind a facade.

She does not have a reason to.

No secret to hide, you see. Not from any prying eyes.

She is fully aware of her power, but disregards it so flippantly.

So irreverent, like men wouldn't worship at her temple.

Obedient and meek, they would be satisfied with being chosen to catch glimpses of her glory.

It would satisfy them, these perfectly-timed sips of water in their otherwise arid lives.

They would not fight, not each other and not her.

They would have no reason to, she is not a wicked goddess.

She gives as much as she can, even if it is too little for them.

I am intoxicated, by the sweetest wine that I taste in the cleft of her navel;

It's heady when I drink from her lips.

I swoon, I swoon, I can't help but fall.

I am a leaf caught in a typhoon.

God exists for me, because how else could she be here?

This work of absolute perfection who has chosen me as her consort.

She is my lover, my pride.

She is woman. I love her.

The most unfortunate thing that could happen to a woman is in not realizing how much power she wields. In her beauty, her grace and strength, when she throws her hair back, her cunning wit. The games she plays can wreck or build a family, her power can topple nations. Yet, she holds back, teetering, shy, clinging to the edges and afraid to offend. That is indeed very unfortunate.

If you know me, you know I love women. I can’t remember when I wrote this piece but I remember sharing it with a friend in 2021, so it’s kinda old. I think it says something about the kind of person I am to write about women like this— I don’t mean my sexuality. I will not get into what I mean right now because I haven’t fully figured it out myself.

Just like a number of drafts I have on several platforms and in many notes, I’m not certain that this is complete. I just felt like I wanted to share it.

My heart has been feeling a pull back to my older writings. I’m not sure why yet, but for now, I will listen to what my heart is saying and share these early works (those that I can find). I hope you enjoyed this