Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
bush bloomed by my mother-father’s roots.
Stem to stem, my beautiful berries bundled,
teeming tart juice that seeped through
the seams—dark as hyacinth.
Drupelets bursting blackness; a flood
of sorrel, soca, and shape-ups.
My sweetness was my beau
until overzealous zephyrs plucked my berries.
Zephyrs in green-lockered halls;
classmates javelin boxes to stuff my berries
in rows of silence because my berries talked ‘white.’
They said my berries were ‘an oreo’:
a chocolate shell with a sugar soul.
Told my berries how to nigga.
My berries had to walk with a limp
else they were spineless, timid.
My berries tasted lame.
My berries looked weird.
Loving comics over basketball.
Soul over drill. Currant rolls over cornbread.
Zephyrs grew into hurricanes,
uprooting my roots. The bush collapsed.
Gales scattered my berries over grass,
splattering them on dirt.
I thought my berries were beautiful.
My juices soured in the soil.
I thought my berries were enough.
Self-loathing molded my drupelets.
Now, I have no blackberries left.
Too tired to.
Kenyatta is a Creative Writing Major. He writes poetry, prose, and is getting his feet wet with screenwriting. Kenyatta enjoys making fun of himself in poems and writing. He loves lemonade and Uzo!