BEHIND THE TUMBLEWEAVE: A DOCU-SERIES

somewhere in North Philly

there’s a Senegalese 

twist in a throuple with 

a cigarette butt & a

leaf’s crunch. I know 

because this nigga just

sent me a photo, 47 days 

after I, too, crystalized 

a wavy Brazilian track 

flirting with a bag of 

Rap Snacks on 

a corner near the 

Georgia Aquarium 

I’m scrolling for a job I 

don’t want when a 

faux loc posing near

a bottle cap in Bed-Stuy 

lights up my phone & 

detangles my smile. 

I’m in Leimert Park when

I stumble upon a ruby 

box braid tussling with 

a banana peel I know 

will glue a giggle into 

this nigga’s desk day

I’m not sure when this 

started, our field study on

how Black folks be every 

which way, this word–

less archive on the 

secret lives of what

tumbles behind: 

a giant yaki spider.                       a jheri curled SOS.              the swaying shell of a swoop bang.

But I know I’ve really 

met a city when a nappy 

micro world blows me 

closer to this nigga that 

used to be my nigga 

my shawty my pookie 

until we, too, weaved what 

was into a new is & let 

the wind slick down the 

edges of our last kiss

All photos courtesy of NOVA CYPRESS BLACK.