Retrospect

Retrospect (Sometimes Hurts More Than the Present)

I can’t help but tell you she’s lucky.

not like the dice.

My air is Unsteady,

Heavy, and Sweet-

Like the overpriced syrup you gave me.

You slithered in under my tongue and

                        secretly coated my hard dose of reality.

Now I'm tripping in the clutches of mutilated double-dutch ropes;

hopscotch chalk covers my hands,

and

I’m a little girl again.

Wednesday Afternoon Revelations

… the milk dribbled down my chin in the kitchen

just moments after I tried to guzzle every drop

of the soy you dropped off – a spontaneous Saturday gift that

sent my love pulse back into irregular-

too fast paced to be just an ignorant side girl.

but,

my metaphors smiled that day, and

I labeled them “different.”

virgin white beads of milk

blended

into linoleum floors

just kissed by both our soles

where I now stand,

alone,

and unknowingly

liberated.

 Photo from Etsy.com

They will be happy again, but right now this is where my head is.

the Next Sentence

 

.and the period began my breakdown.

The breaking long overdue like cracked windshields feeling the pressure of potholes unseen.

Splitting glass shattered

Into a mosaic I couldn’t yet see,

separating your explanation of why we really can’t be

Semi-Releasing me

From the

Drip feed of

crybaby love poems in iambic meter.

Because I forgot

the quality of mercy is not strain’d

we were never meant.

Our bees fluttered in a twisted pattern and our

Flights tangled.

 

caught in the residue of our first meeting,

I forgot all appointments are inked in by God. I tried to take control of the wheel and

was jolted,

jilted

and too soon you were gone

before I realized that while sweet, honey is sticky.

 

and my wings still flap to break free from its dead body,

so they can fly again.

For the Restless …(and the truth seekers)

For the Restless …(and the truth seekers)

 

There’s no place for

propriety here-

No place for

Bitten tongues

bloodied and swollen from

Pulling back unfiltered words

 

No scratched esophagi

Bruised and beaten like punching bags

Throbbing from damming tears

 

Because it’s bullshit

If it’s not loving who we are without makeup.

If it’s not letting our guts hang.

 

Don’t write to me if it’s not

Babies screaming for milk-filled tits

Like black fists

With

4 clenched fingers

leaving the fifth to spread its wisdom

 

I need verses that don’t hide.

Don’t hide

        tales

              of 

                 black whores

selling their treasure for the

devil’s

white medicine.

 

Don’t cover your eyes,

There

           is

                no revolution-

Don’t worry about it

being televised.

 

Give me poetry that tastes like remorseful twilight dipped in lust.

 

Don’t sugar coat your cookies

Or dunk your donuts in stoicism

To glaze me.

 

I’d rather have “dagger poems”

To part your blonde hair

Give me poetry

That knows my black daughter’s

strife isn’t self-inflicted.

 

Poetry that knows

Nigger is just a word

Isn’t just a word

Is just our word

Not yours anymore

 

Call me my real name without forgetting who I am.

 

Let my words come alive because they have to.

 

Take the air I’m giving you.

 

                 -November ‘08

Dream to Sleep

Dream to Sleep

 

When I close my eyes

I see nights.

 

Shining in armor

Lit by Jupiter moons.

Coming to save Me from my days.

 

But I’m too stubborn to ride.

 

 

       -June ‘09

Untitled..for now

Untitled

 

I remember when (your) promises were staples

Not unicorns

And one-eyed monsters.

 

Magic carpet rides were never free

Ignorance

Was my down-payment

And monthly installments

Emptied out my senses

Like a vacuum

Your crossword language sucked me dry.

 

I’m happy for the midnight bell-

I’d rather sing and dance with the mice

dreaming of my prince charming.

 

You can keep the slipper.

 

 

                               -June ‘09

For Men (boys)

For Men (boys)

 

“let the flashes  come when they meet someone special.”

-Lucille Clifton, “For Sons”

 

I wish him childbirth.

I wish him emotional attachment from sex.

I wish him one week early

On a first date

In a white skirt.

 

I wish him one week late and ignored phone calls

I wish him empathy.

I wish him unable to say no because he loves me

Not because he’s easy,

But be called easy anyway.

 

I wish him trust.

and futile patience

I wish him well.

 

                 -June ‘09