Jerrice J. Baptiste
Jerrice J. Baptiste is an author of eight books and a poet in residence at the Prattsville Art Center & Residency in NY. She has been nominated as Best of The Net by Blue Stem for 2022. She is extensively published in journals and magazines such as Artemis Journal, The Yale Review, Mantis, Kosmos Journal, The Shawangunk Review, The Caribbean Writer and many others. Jerrice has been the featured poet on Planet Poet-Words in Space, The Woodstock Poetry Society, and The International Women’s Writing Guild. Her poetry and collaborative song-writing are on the Grammy award-nominated album, Many Hands: Family Music for Haiti. She has been facilitating poetry workshops for eighteen years.
A Good Day
Mother calls over the phone. I swallow hard, find my adult voice to say, "Yes, it was a good day."
She wishes me, "Bonne nuit," I wish her the same, and quickly hang up before betraying emotion.
Air is humid, I wait for rain lying in my bed, I call the cove. A horizontal recess built
with birch by hands of my love, facing woods on the mountaintop. This autumn, I watched as last crimson leaves blown byboisterous winds, sun shining over linked mountains.
Now, I sip mother's warmherbal mixture.A taupe moon etched into pearl black sky looks back at me.
She wishes me, "Bonne nuit," I wish her the same, and quickly hang up before betraying emotion.
Air is humid, I wait for rain lying in my bed, I call the cove. A horizontal recess built
with birch by hands of my love, facing woods on the mountaintop. This autumn, I watched as last crimson leaves blown byboisterous winds, sun shining over linked mountains.
Now, I sip mother's warmherbal mixture.A taupe moon etched into pearl black sky looks back at me.
Every 120 Seconds
All of my sisters Be a mythic sea. Chant one hundred eight times song of Ohm.Dress clavicle to pubic bone with jasmine oil. Explore presence in rising Fog, folds of sky & skin, Buddha's mind. Great waves whisper redHibiscus, and pink lotus now grow in our bellies. Instantly begin our compassionate Journey to any despair in solar plexus. Kelp below water sweep up scars of Lost breasts, and wombs slashed from hip to hip. Malignant cells, we lose our breath. Night merges with day. We gain strength again On wooden sage green boats lapping in ocean.Peace in silence, tears come often. Quest for deliverance, a goddess in Reverence of our floral scent Sings her sweetness in marrow.Tell us how to comfort our anguish. Under these stars we make a wish.Voices in unison transform fear into solace. We are separated by sea not by sky.Xpand our consciousness to transcend Years of red, yellow, black, pearl flesh withering. Zip up chest, chambers calling for ancient honoring.
Every two minutes a woman gets diagnosed with breast cancer. The rate of new cases of uterine cancer was 27.8 per 100,000 women per year. The death rate was 5.1 per 100,000 women per year. National Cancer Institute.
Every two minutes a woman gets diagnosed with breast cancer. The rate of new cases of uterine cancer was 27.8 per 100,000 women per year. The death rate was 5.1 per 100,000 women per year. National Cancer Institute.