Blue

I never learned how to swim.
I almost drowned at a pool party
in the 6th grade.
I was the only dark body there.

When I saw the ivory colored kids
somersault off diving board
into the cold sanctuary below,
I wanted to feel what they felt.  

To be free enough and safe enough
to jump into something that could kill me.
So I jumped and quickly sank,
until my arms were flailing ferociously  

trying to grab onto something I couldn’t see
like God or love.  For a moment I felt weightless.
A black boy bird flying with no restraint
until the water reminded me I was human.

I have a hard time remembering
when I fell in love
with water.  Truly don’t recall the moment
waves enchanted my innocent eyes

and unearthed new worlds in these pupils.
Perhaps, it was in elementary school
when I was scribbling outside the lines.
When I had not yet become

acquainted with the burden of barriers.
Was not familiar that dark lines
were a thing you were not supposed to cross.
At that age we glided crayon across paper

with no intention of halt. Danced
over barricades until we made them beautiful.
We would dig our hands
in warm sand and soft beach, 

submerging feet beneath the blue
until we could no longer see where we stood.
I loved the feeling of enveloping myself
in something larger than myself.  

In college
a brown skinned girl with a sharp tongue
and soft smile taught me
how to float in the water.  

To glide and extend limbs in a straight line
until my body turned still.
She was also instructing me in a crash course on love.
The art of stretching out and leaping 

until joints tire of exhaustion.
To jump off of faith
into a pool of uncertainty.
I vowed to always study the aquatics of her.

So when I visit the cemetery
that now houses her bones,
I stare at the lake that surrounds her.
Use these sea legs  

to swim to her gravesite
and extend my arms
like a black bird
trying to spread its wings.  

 Bankruptcy

My heart is a wallet  
filled with everything
except the currency
which makes it worth carrying.
You will find statements shaped like love letters
marked with insufficient funds.
A bank slip attached to an empty vault
that refuses to unlock itself.

My heart is a ledger.
A red hyphenated balance
does not fade to black on its own.
It needs something to make it believe
that transition is possible.
This heart has suffered so many withdrawals
the residuals have sucked the interest out of my smile.

My heart is a weapon
I wield like a shard of glass afraid
of hurting myself by holding it incorrectly.
This house of vein and blood
can’t renovate itself.
Most days I am a sledgehammer
with no handle to steer me.
A wrecking ball with no wall to plow through.
A husband with no wife.

These poems are from Angelo's first book, More God Than Dead, forthcoming from Muddy Ford Press in 2022.

Angelo Geter currently serves as the Poet Laureate of Rock Hill, SC, and is a 2020 Academy of American Poets Laureate Fellow. Geter is a 2018 National Poetry Slam champion, Rustbelt Regional Poetry Slam finalist, and Southern Fried Regional Poetry Slam finalist  He is also the creator of the One Word Poetry Festival. His work has appeared on All Def Poetry, Charleston Currents, Gratefulness.com, and the Academy of American Poets “Poem a Day” series. He currently  works at Winthrop University as the Director of Campus Programming.