The Minnie Riperton Collection by Joy Priest

1970: Come to My Garden

The hedgerows terrace into steps for the minister 

of melismatic mazes, a coloratura stream 

trickles from her mouth—honey 

bush & rose petal, cinnamon & blue 

pea flower. She is a bud among buds

begging sex sweetly 

in the voice of mist; a guardian of spirit

in ritual gown. Invisible gods make choir 

behind her, whispering the weather. An ensemble 

of moles, who cannot see but feel  

the calling of light, are sung from the soil. 

A minor key in the breast, secretly blooming 

into a future wound, this well of sound

where dropped fruit rots to poison. Her life 

arranged in perennial movement, then coda 

echoing her cinema, her wings, her la la la’s

1974: Perfect Angel

Pink textured soul glow, perfect auburn afro,

melting ice cream cone microphone,

not a whisper from heaven, yet,

about your halo. Maya has arrived

& every night you lullaby her

into a humid slumber

while wonder waits for you

in your private springtime. Striped & sticky

fingers, nipples hidden

behind overall jean flap

& nickel snap. Bronze aqueduct cleavage

carrying tone & color to a heart-shaped chin.

You were drifting into Florida seclusion, family

orchestral arrangement,

but El Toro Negro

awaits you in a Los Angeles studio

under cover of alias and alien symphony

synthesizers.

One eye chimes, one eye chirps.

Simple moments of our lives ring intricate

triangle notes from your mouth.

1975: Adventures in Paradise

This is how I imagine you

up there: — finally crowned in ecstatic gold

tinsel, perched on a copper

velvet throne. Little

lounging angel, the size of a flower vase,

even the big beasts purr

in harmony. Lion song

carrying sandy notes through the absolute blue

firmament, so blue it hurts

to hear this song

& see on the screen of my mind

a missing lover dancing next to me

fingertips tickling

my fingertips, so blue it hurts to feel

us inside each other

when we barely touched last,

like strangers, & the high note faded

into an ethereal forever, growing infinitely

distant.

          Send it down, send it down, send it

down: — whatever you know now,

whatever you knew outside

of words, inside

of sound.

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JOY PRIEST is the author of Horsepower (Pitt Poetry Series, 2020), winner of the Donald Hall Prize for Poetry, and the editor of Once a City Said: A Louisville Poets Anthology (Sarabande, 2023). She is a recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship, a Fine Arts Work Center fellowship, and the Stanley Kunitz Memorial Prize from the American Poetry Review. Her work—including poems, essays, and criticism—has appeared in Boston Review, Gulf Coast Magazine, the Los Angeles Review of Books, and Sewanee Review, among others. Joy currently teaches creative writing at the University of Pittsburgh and serves as the Curator of Community Programs & Practice at Pitt’s Center for African American Poetry & Poetics (CAAPP).

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