left for dead

you don't immediately wonder
what it will feel like
once your entrails have been ripped out
and feasted upon

there is no way to tell
the emptiness that will dwell
in the shell of what
you once were

'til it happens
to you
and by then
it won't matter

beautiful, black, precious and complicated

"Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul oyster." ~Shakespeare


It's not every day one learns they are a black pearl.

A rare and accidental creature.

And it's not every day you find one.

It's not every day pearls of wisdom adorn a neck.

But every day- pearls are cast before swine.

And you cannot fault the swine

for not knowing

what has been dropped into the trough.

And no one can bemoan a pearl's fate

if it's swallowed as swill-

or simply remains

in its lonely iridescence.








Inspired by Tupac Amaru Shakur

Incident

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee;
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."

I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember.



by Countee Cullen

lowest common denominator

in two years i've learned that
every smiling face
ain't necessarily
happy to see you

that work still waits for you
even if you don't hear the alarm
and the wounds you can't see
take the longest to heal

i also learned
that no amount of explaining
will be enough
when their minds are made up
and that talking to my father
only hurts
when I'm keeping secrets

that no audience is required
to feel humiliated
and that math was never my strongest subject-
but I know enough about equations
to solve the problem
but the variables
keep changing
so I'm always
wrong

in the past two years
I learned that
nothing is personal
and everything
is personal

Where Did The Night Go

Where Did The Night Go - Gil Scott Heron

Long ago the clock washed midnight away
Bringing the dawn
Oh God, I must be dreaming
Time to get up again
And time to start up again
Pulling on my socks now
Should have been asleep
When I was sitting there drinking beer
And trying to start another letter to you
Don’t know how many times I dreamed to write again last night
Should’ve been asleep when I turned the stack of records over
and over
So I wouldn’t be up by myself
Where did the night go?
Should go to sleep now
And say fuck a job and money
Because I spend it all on unlined paper and can’t get past
“Dear Baby, how are you?”
Brush my teeth and shave
Look outside…sky is dark
Think it may rain
Where did
Where did
Where did



Been asking myself the same exact thing, Gil. The same exact thing...




Photo Courtesy: Giora Eshkol

Green Light

I miss coming and going

as I please.
Stop. Go. Stop. Stop.
Go.Go. Go.
I miss having enough change

to do simple things,

like buy myself a silly 
pair of slippers.
I miss the days of sleeping late

and catching early movies.

I miss talking to my father

across a cup of instant coffee.

It was no Starbucks but it was just...good.
I miss logging on and writing to my heart's content.

I miss the days of early December

when nothing mattered
but lunch.
Now everything does.
Every bit of minutia making shreds
out of my peace
like ribbons.
Like pretty frayed crosscut ribbons
curling on the wind.
Now my days are filled with wondering

where the time will come from.

Where the money will come from.

Where the peace of mind

will come from.

Today

I'm giving myself the green light
to start it all over again
because
I
miss
me.

This morning

An errant silver hair up front

betrays the girlish ponytail

I've so painstakingly constructed

this morning.

It's chillier in the apartment

than usual- knowing it's already hot

in the Sunshine state.

I do not hear the kettle on the range.

Forget the black pekoe steeping

in my mug dotted with ladybugs.

No time to drink it.
Too much time spent on the ponytail

that isn't fooling anyone.

I ring my father.

Remind him of the man

we would see
while lapping the high school track
for exercise.
He would walk the grassy outskirts
in shorts and knee high socks
jostling a rocks glass of amber liquid.
Nodding at passers by.
A comical smile on his face.
Bourbon perhaps?
For the sake of refills I hope
he lived close by.
We laugh-
even as I feel my happiness

circling the drain.

I hang up.

I start the car and notice

the tears roll, blamelessly now

from a different place
where anger has departed
and a hollow ache
has taken residence-
this morning.

Travails

It's getting harder.
The days, I mean.
A change of clothes in the trunk.
The clock set 8 minutes fast. (it helps a little)
Running between where I'm supposed to be
and where I'd rather not be.
My mind is tired.
Apartment hunting. Cold calls. No time. Rushed appointments.
And security deposits that might as well be a million dollars.
Fitful sleep stealing the few hours I have to myself.
Toss, turn, toss, turn. Alarm.
Do it all again.
Every minute of the day accounted for.
So the days have been.
Harder.
Promising nothing but more of the same.
My bones are tired.
Who said it would be easy? Lie to me some more.
And I'll walk this walk alone.
Weeping is for weaklings.
It shouldn't be this way.

Absence Makes the Mind Go Yonder

A lover's angst is like none other.

'Tis not born of awkwardness
like that of a teenager.
Does not circulate proud blood
throughout the frenzied patriot
that will run cold
from schism or death.
It is devoid of final hour
hand wringing.

For there is no final hour to fretfulness
of this sort.
It lurks in doorways.
Follows you out to get the mail.
Waits at the window-
just like you.
Kills time
while knifing expectations.


When it leaves, it promises to be back in a fortnight.


Which is more
than you can say
for they.

We Real Cool

THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.


We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Words by Gwendolyn Brooks

Flawless

People love you like
a diamond in their hand.
In awe of the brilliance they hold
but can never possess.


You appear to them
like daybreak in a dirt tunnel.
Like lightning in a clearing.
Like high noon to a drunkard.
Sudden.

People love you like
a diamond in the palm
of a pauper.
Unable to believe
their good fortune.
Astounded by
your clarity.
Priceless.


Cutting through glass and
closely held beliefs
with involuntary ease.
And a hardness known only to those
who grip fearlessly,
desperately.


I know that diamond all too well.


A girl's best friend.
Superlative in qualities.
Blinding all who lay eyes on it
as you reflect their own light.
Sparkling.

The only way to love a diamond?
Hang on tightly.
Let go lightly.




Inspired by Dame Shirley Bassey

Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women

(from a song)

Perhaps I was born kneeling,
born coughing on the long winter,
born expecting the kiss of mercy,
born with a passion for quickness
and yet, as things progressed,
I learned early about the stockade
or taken out, the fume of the enema.
By two or three I learned not to kneel,
not to expect, to plant my fires underground
where none but the dolls, perfect and awful,
could be whispered to or laid down to die.

Now that I have written many words,
and let out so many loves, for so many,
and been altogether what I always was—
a woman of excess, of zeal and greed,
I find the effort useless.
Do I not look in the mirror,
these days,
and see a drunken rat avert her eyes?
Do I not feel the hunger so acutely
that I would rather die than look
into its face?
I kneel once more,
in case mercy should come
in the nick of time.

words by Anne Sexton

Blameless

The truth is
you cannot fault
the maelstrom
for doing simply
what comes naturally.

Cannot address the sky
in accusatory tones
for being overhead.

You shouldn't hate
the serpent
for striking.

How can you not love
the purity of a child's laugh
meeting the air?

Because all of it
is right as rain.
And we laugh
at unlaughable things.

Bear up against the swallower
that is time
while it has its way
with us.

We unlaugh our murderous thoughts
and stand in the rain
that feeds the maelstrom
under the sky
overlooking the serpent.

Loving the children
whose laughs are so different
from our own.

Untitled but Entitled

There's a memory climbing through my brain,
its claws snagging the fabric of my peace.
Benevolent eye looking down on a beautiful disaster...
but it blinks far too long.
No rewind button to press. No time machine to hop in.
No clock to reverse.
There are no words to paint the picture.
Simon said...
Time, time, time
See what's become of me.
While I looked around for my possibilities.
Kweli said...
Another night slips away.
There are no words I should say. There are no words you should say.
There are no words...
And they're right.

Lightning War

Red, White and Blue. Hunting for fireworks.
Timing is everything.
Artificial stars popping in multicolored bursts.
A pause. Just long enough.
Leaving one minute later
would have changed everything.
And it did.
Change everything.
He. Head down. Purposeful gait.
She. Head high. Blissfully oblivious.
Orange cotton. Navy sky. Gray pavement.
Red, White, and Blue dress.
Multi-colored Madness.
The mosaic of the day comes together.
Last piece of the puzzle...
but I cannot make it fit.
Yes. I remember now.
Independence Day.
Fireworks behind my eyes.
Blitzkrieg in my head.
Sledgehammer to my stomach.
Red passion. White clarity.
Blues anchoring my soul.
No dreaming sweet.
Not tonight.
Only waking Nightmares.

Wide awake now...

Still, they dance.

He is...
an elegant tomcat
who doesn't pretend
he can love
one woman at a time.
She is...
whispered beyond
misted curtains.
Screening this world
from that.

Never the twain shall meet. But still...

Glow

He closes doors quietly-
and makes me
hear my own
heartbeat.

He makes little girls
beam
and older women blush
with undivided
charm.

Rugged hands
are feather soft
when on my face.
The selfsame hands that
crush rocks...
cradle flowers.


Yesterdays
are now
Tomorrows.
And I await them
with childlike wonder.

He closes doors quietly.

No Tall Tales

No tall tales.
Only short stories reside here.
Unflinching truths
that heal
and offend equally.
Just depends on
which side
you stood on
that day.
Or the next...
I have no tall tales.
A cool pitcher of bitterness
stands on the table.
It is not for you to drink.
Only to remind you
that good will
should never be avoided.
They will want
everything that you are.
Tell you they
need nothing...
They will want
to make buttons
out of your bones.
Know this, and give
the last of the milk
anyway.
Do not become unhinged.
An imperfect life
is preferable to
an inauthentic one.

Friday in B-Flat

Death becomes my Friday
and it is not yet
midnight.
Even greatness takes a wayward walk.
Exhausted by vagary,
I count the time- only to lose count
again.

Not a thing new under the Sun.
Nothing new under the Moon, either.
It has always been-
will always be.
I am an interloper.
Do not belong between these
intertwined worlds.

The rotation goes on-
but only I
am left dizzy.
Senses askew.
Bereft of understanding when
or how
or why
they blend
in skin.

Astonished at the appetite-
I toss some meat in disbelief.
Feed this volatile hunger.
It gnaws off my fingertips.
And I barely notice.
Closed mouth gaping with
words of regret.
I need this day
to be swallowed by another,
more forgiving one.

Death becomes my Friday.

Head Above Water

I baptized myself
in your "holy" mysteries
and came up
gasping for air.
There is something
to be said
for easing into things
and letting time
run its course.

I wish I had listened.

But with you,
I balked.
I longed to know you.
I ached to touch you.
I heard your unwhispered

words and felt your
double-edged swords.

And every time you spoke,
I hardened to the truth
and pretended
that it wasn't.

I wanted to feel your
heart beating beneath
your ribs.
I wanted to taste
each of your sighs
and look deep into you.
Never to look back...

but now,
now I can breathe.