Poetry Portfolio (Final)

Affection In Stages
By Davy Washington
ENGL 304A(2)
Poetry Portfolio Final
December 8th, 2022
1301 College Ave, Fredericksburg VA, 22401
dwashin3@mail.umw.edu
571-598-5606

artist statement
revised poems
a language i can’t understand
sprite and lemonheads
we wore our keys;
rest easy, summer (rest easy, darling S)
original drafts
a queer child’s call for introspection
an elegy for what was
you are a metaphor for a featherless raven
obsession is the least of my concerns
soapbox litany
covert coffee maker
we wore our keys;

Artist Statement
From an incredibly young age, I’ve had a deep appreciation for and strong love-hate relationship
with poetry. I believe that humanity calls for independence from emotions to survive, but also,
and quite contradictorily, relies on our ability to empathize with one another for relationships to
form, which is the prime emotion that poetry calls on for writing (no matter the subject matter). I
write for my self-declared just cause of exploring the expression of all emotions to comprehend
what can’t be, and poetry is by far my favorite method of doing so. I’ve always held the belief
that a deep respect for poetry should be established first before trying to accost it and will your
words into its fabric. The English language is malleable and inspiring, which also allows for
poetry to exist. That being said, I’ve taken a great amount of inspiration and had a strong
connection with the themes of love. Heartbreak, first loves, sex and intimacy, and loss among
many movements. In my current life, I’ve met a person who has allowed me to reconnect myself
to those themes and how to express them with words I couldn’t fathom, but felt the need to
search for. I’ve become enamored with their being, been compelled to create delicate prose, and
coerced into letting their being run through me in a way that has allowed me to create works that
I’m incredibly proud of and fought back with me as I wrote them. They, who are mentioned by
name in the revised poems, have turned my head upside down, flipped it around, and put it back
on nicely. I have never felt a need to establish a declaration of love, but these poems have been
the very start of that process. I approach the poems I’ve written with a great level of courage that
has allowed me to rewrite the ones that have struck me back the hardest. I find it easiest to write
away from people, to allow my thoughts to materialize and speak to me themselves. This was
especially the case with sprite and lemonheads, where I shut myself in my room with my
emotions and let myself type until we were satisfied with the outcome. For rest easy, summer,

my main goal was to dip my toe into free form, and let the words take whatever shape on the
page that they felt so inclined to take, and I’ve fallen in love with the result. I hope that from
reading these poems, you can begin to grasp how hard my heart beats and why these themes have
consumed every inch of my brain. And to my poems, who have kept me awake for countless
nights, I thank you for allowing me to peer into so many deep facets of humanity. If possible, I’d
invite you all out for drinks. You have given me more than what can be listed on paper, and for
that I thank you.

a language i can’t understand
by davy washington
tiny hallways bring us close: a tease.
converse moving along marble floor.
we laugh; sound waves hitting the walls,
make the concrete shake. we need more space.
i can not deny the movements we’re making.
waves of euphoria creep down my spine.
a warmth overbearing, engulfing
us. on this bed, my bed, on fire.
swelling fingers interlock,
this sounds strangely familiar.
i can not deny the blaze in my heart.
look at me. i can see my reflection,
smiling, in your eyes.
just past your iris i catch a glimpse of fear, i shake.
caressed by trust, your palms, assured that we are both here.
these are the feelings of feeling real and
i can not deny what i
feel is real.

sprite and lemonheads
by davy washington
two fizzy butterfly kisses brought us together.
i held your hand in mine just to see
your cane sugar smile clear a sky of gray.
two bubbly butterfly kisses brought us together.
too much honey on my tongue, so i wrote you a letter
that’ll come quick, like hummingbirds for nectar in may;
two sparkling butterfly kisses brought us together.
your touch makes me sizzle like a sprite in hot july weather.
as fireworks spark, watch my body sway.
i’m used to a taste that’s strongly bitter.
sour lemonheads have come and gone. please. stay.
two tingly butterfly kisses brought us together.
i love you, Key.

we wore our keys;
by davy washington
i am firmly pressed
against your chest, body
to body.
you look at me, and
as we mesh and mix, body to body,
you, in this bed, holding me
tightly, invite me in.
our beads of sweat are writing a story on this bed.
when i was younger,
i didn’t know that someone could long for my pull and push.
but now, you are here, biting your lip, smiling in this bed.
i push--
no--move my affection through you
to make it felt from your spine to your fingertips
that you are the sun to me. i will cherish you.
i will find a way to make sure you know
that our hearts are touching too.

rest easy, summer
by davy washington
bending
and
curling
around one
another like twizzlers,
i’d hum a lullaby to help you sleep.
but as the seasons change, my voice has grown hoarse,
made dry by the settling of the last drop of dew.
you are missed, summer.
the time of year
has arrived where
your ghost
it laughs:
“I’m Dead!”
haunts me
apathetically.
taunting me with
brushing over me,
leaving me feeling like
and am somehow at fault for
a chilling wind
consuming me,
i am ill
your death.
your warm textures are no longer held by
my skin,
the viscosity of your sun-beam blood still feels like thin
film on my arms and
hands and fingers.
i spit out my
pride
and accept my nervous nature.
i am left here, without you, on
god’s green archipelago.

a queer child’s call for introspection
by davy washington
two clear distinctions.
two sides of a gendered line.
“binaries provide clarity.”
a world that’s hungry
to be sure of your parts.
“binaries provide certainty.”
broad shoulders,
brute force,
boiling rage.
i can not function
like other men, and
i rebuke them.
small frame,
scented fingertips,
serene like the ocean.
to be a woman
is to suffer from
unrecognized superiority.
since i do not fit
in to one or the other,
i implore reconsideration.
prepare to think
and feel but
never really understand.
sex: a great divide
that pushes most
to one side or the other.

what happens when
you step between—
the divide, of course—
to see what it’s like
for those who live in the middle?
between the binary.
the curtain falls.
the line cracks,
and gender breaks off.
look within, and
ask yourself.
question everything.
approach society—
accost it—
at the center of
what is known
in the world
and scream:
“this is my body.
i am what i am.
it’s not what you wanted.”
who will answer?
who will listen?
who will have the heart to reply,
“I love you
the way you are
my child.”

an elegy for what was
by davy washington
i’d say i’m lonely nowadays.
i pace while walking around our old dining hall, nervous
that i might see a memory sitting in a booth, rotting away.
i want to forget about you two.
our memories.
two heads are better than one, and three’s company. but now my head bobbles alone. you two are
gone.
my ears don’t ring with the high pitched laughter, or late night euphoria in our lofted beds. and
that hurts.
but i still went to our funeral.
our future carried promise.
we became blood through indirect contact. countless afternoons in study rooms, spring water
rushing through a beautiful fountain.
i always put you two first, but in turn i made myself forgotten. in the dark.
constantly left behind.
i always wonder if my words can reach their ears from beyond the grave.
i think it’s silly that our friendship was cut so short. ended by the changing of seasons and
a truth revealed: we weren’t as good of friends.
i was mistreated.
things were never that good.
i screamed in aching pain every day, waiting for one of you to just look at me with gentleness
and not disgust.
every day was always so damn cloudy.
today, i lament.
but tomorrow i move on. i will let go of a friendship that’s no longer mine.
college will run its course and these’ll be the best years of my life. and you two will be a
memory, biting the dust tail of time.

you are a metaphor for a featherless raven
by davy washington
oxymoronic, so you dare not speak.
i'm ignorant beyond what the world knows.
alien language, spoken from your beak
makes you different from most older crows.
i want to hear your voice dead bird, so scream
and tell the world that you are weak and small.
your wish for love is still only a dream;
feeling the warmth and care from all who fall
victim of your curse and pledge loyalty
without thinking once that you will bring death.
some will cry and wish death would set them free.
some will crumble, longing for a last breath.
yet still, with a heavy heart, i love you,
and till death do we part will have to do.

obsession is the least of my concerns.
by davy washington
i hope you found the letter that i wrote yesterday. i was sitting in my room on the eve of
autumn’s end, without the echoes of your voice bouncing off the walls. a cold wind started to
settle in, and my heartbeat slowed. i looked up from my pen and paper, saw but a few leaves
swaying in the wind, and thought about the first time that you smiled at me. it was when i was
born, only three months ago. the way your lips creased was pleasant, and i knew i’d grow quite
fond of you after that. i thought about how cold my skin felt in that moment, as i was writing it,
even though the 6:04 PM sun-rays beamed through my window and painted the corner of my
room the color of your skin. my outer layer was firm and rigid. bark-like and withering. my mind
flooded with images of us, laying in the bed that i was sitting in, and i wanted so desperately to
see your eyes staring back at me whenever i looked up. i loved your gaze so dearly. it tickled me
like leaves falling on my face, gave me a smile, and warmed me like the golden sun. somehow,
though, i always managed to make you sad. i never stopped looking at you when you cried. i
stared at you with wide eyes and empty branches, and it scared you. or, at least, you said it did. i
wanted to swallow your tears: salty, sea-like, savory, and satiating; to feed your sadness to my
roots and sprout like a seed. but i could never get enough. i can’t grow. i remembered every line
and mark on your face, so that one day i could paint a picture of you and use my branches like
paintbrushes. i care about you, so i’m sorry to leave you devastated. when i saw you yesterday, at
the end of the equinox, you said that i wouldn’t see you again, and i asked you why. you said that
we’ll talk tomorrow. when you woke up today, and all of the trees were dead, you couldn’t find
me. that’s because i also died today.

soapbox litany
by davy washington
you never knew me.
you never held me like a gentle breeze,
you never knew the oak tree-bark of fall,
you never painted pictures with fallen leaves on empty roads.
you never left summer's sand-ridden and bee-buzzing side.
you never knew how fun pumpkin seeds could be.
you never looked at the arrangement of stars in the black-box sky,
you never read me cliche verses of rupi kar late at night.
you never tripped over your words,
you never thought about me twice.
you never invited me into your home.
you never could take the place of my winter scarf.
you never kissed the front of my forehead to keep it warm,
you never held my tongue with yours,
you never licked away my sodium-dense tears.
you never held me close in harsh winter storms.
you never were mine to love.
you never can tell me you love me.
you never will feel my love.
you never will love me.

covert coffee maker
by davy washington
I.
fly traps coiling down
mosquito covered donuts
and i am at a loss of words
at how deliciously demented
this makes me feel.
i want to go backback,
go back to
the days where standing
behind a counter used to
be so
simple.
what once brought joy is now laborious,
i reek of fake dough that makes $3.25 every transaction,
and my mental state is just as fluffy.
II.
maggie had a vision when she
saw this husk. remodel, remake.
but you still couldn’t shake
what was baked into your cupcakes and
lemon poppy-seed muffins.
deception occurs
most when those
who are unaffected
choose to look away.
but i peered in.
at least, i did. between each shift, greeting,
and endless night of sweeping of brownie crumbs that deserved a better home.
now i can’t avert my eyes from what really happens in these walls.
what it really means to be in this bake-shopped family.

we wore our keys;
by davy washington
i’m pressed firmly against your chest, body
to body, our beads of sweat have written a story on this bed.
heavy breaths tell me all i need to know
about which buttons i need to push.
my fingers trace your figure and jump at the opportunity to make you recoil, and
i am left speechless by your nimble motions.
my eyes capture every muscle-twitching motion,
as we mesh, mix, and mold each other, body to body,
leaving no trace of an uncertain love behind. you,
in this bed,
holding me tightly, beg me to push, so i push.
i want to hear all there is to know.
when i was younger, i didn’t think i would know
how to match another’s movement.
that someone could long for my pull and push,
or to see every curve, indent, and protrusion of my body.
but here you are, biting your lip, smiling in this bed,
these two genderless vessells, and
i am so enamored. you look at me, and,
without an ounce of hesitation, i know
that you want to blossom in this bed.
that one aspect of time can be controlled: its motion.
when you move your hands all over my body,
i can take the hands of the clock and push
and push them back and back to keep them still.
i push--
no--move my affection through you and
make it felt from your spine to your fingertips, your whole body,
that you are the sun to me. but i want you to know
that this is all for goodness’s sake. the motions
that we make will move beyond this bed.