Josephine Is Her Name. Poem by Jo Anna Bella Bennerson

Josephine is her name.
She stuns you like Lady Holiday.
Not quite as outrageous as her namesake,
La Parisian, Josephine Baker.
NO! don’t you approach her, the same
for you see, she’s been anointed “Queen”.
Men are quickly tamed for she executes fakers.

Josephine is her name
and does not simply imply, merely suggest,
instead “Josephine” radiantly manifests – Royalty.
And royalty marches on,
whether in the fiefdoms of Brooklyn,
or in the splendor of the Caribbean sun.
Her actions are too strong for mild terms like sin.

Josephine lives her name.
She carries trunks of jewels, clothes and shoes.
She’s vocal! She’s visual! She’s regal!
Josephine lives fully, she need not impress you
but she does and you’re consumed with it.
Her walk alone entraps men and diminishes women.
God rejoices in her – her voice, her presence, all too big – perfectly fit.

Josephine is her name
and she won’t be confined to your ‘french’ prison.
Her kiss erases all emotions you’ve ever known before.
She comes so that sensations transform into seasons.
Poor Duke Clifford felt the sting of her lore.
Slaying the one whom objected that Josephine’s name
was exclaimed at the impromptu moment.

Or so the legend goes
for Josephine is her name
and many myths, realities convene to create, embellish
the story but the glory is hers alone.
No offspring can rise to the challenge
whether nurtured or nourished, too overpowered.
All planets to her spectacular sun, they cometh.

Josephine is her name.
Too beautiful in youth to be shy, embarrassed by it.
Too willful with age to succumb to it.
Look if you want with admiring eyes
as did the island governor or neon city hustlers.
Crave her desires for your own, if you wish.
Do you have that built in “Josephine” to deal with it?

Josephine transcends her name
whether you pronounce it with a European, New York or Crucian accent.
She reads avidly, she sews…some say she prays
for the life we never knew she lived inside,
inside herself, her crowded apartment, her ancestral home.
They say while she was everyone’s desire, she lived alone.

But Josephine is her name
so when you graced her palace with your entourage,
she served feasts surely prepared by chefs.
As fine garments laced her furniture, in her realm
a party materialized while your ego got massaged.
So you never wanted to leave
but like cancer under “chemo” pressure, you knew when to get out!
Still your mental senses crave what you once devoured,
craving it still now, in your body throughout.

JOSEPHINE…Josephine is her name.