"ii. dance moves" by Kwame Opoku-Duku

Originally appearing in Flypaper Poetry Issue V.​

Kwame Opoku-Duku is a Ghanaian-American poet and fiction writer. He is the author of The Unbnd Verses (Glass Poetry Press, 2018), and his work is featured in The Virginia Quarterly Review, The Kenyon Review, BOMB, The Shallow Ends, The Literary Review, Bettering American Poetry, and other publications. Kwame lives in New York City, where he is a teaching artist, and along with Karisma Price, a founding member of the Unbnd Collective. Kwame is an associate poetry editor for BOAAT Journal, and supported by his residency with the Human Impacts Institute, he curates the reading series Dear Ocean.​

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​ii. dance moves


the old heads say
the world is burning,
watching youngins

milly rock in
the streets, bodies engulfed
by the glow of their

blackness, no fucks
given, ain’t got time
in these streets.

and it’s true, really.
the world is burning.
at its core we’d evaporate

like an orgasm in
the night sky,
have our souls flown

to heaven by
God’s benevolent birds.
i used to be a youngin.

i used to wild
wilder than the wildest.
i’ve watched young

men of color
spontaneously combust.
these days,

i evangelize
like a dime store preacher,
scrutinize the suits

of other preachers,
envy the humility of
those more favored.

i am so scared i want
to die with my eyes open.
i never turn my back

on anybody, never
trust without power.
the devil preys

in liminal spaces,
uses pebbles instead
of boulders,

talking plenty
slick, like he’s the only
one who could

really know God,
who could really
love Him.

and you’ll say it’s
more complicated.
it’s always

more complicated.
i say, lord, take everything
but my dance moves.

i submit myself
to your will.
your grace

a pashmina in
the crisp new york
air. i’ll lay myself

​prostrate
and pray for
more heat.