soft

we tend to know when our babies ain't made for this world.

from mother mary to mama cissy there have been prayers for understanding, time...

but sometimes it's real from the first.

they too soft.
too good.
too sweet.
too loving.

baby smiles and childish giggles
clouded with worry, concern.

no babies
are made to fight machines
and survive

black babies are no different.

...but we are expected to be.
as if our rattles are made of steel
and we teethe on granite pebbles.

for those of beauty
taken under
and torn asunder...

basquiat
donnie
'trane
nippy
phyllis

& the unnamed
and unclaimed
of the streets
'hoods
and barrios:

for your sake,

may we heal
and know care;

nurture
and know love;

listen
and find peace.

chasin paper

inspiration: twitter & sept. 17

too many holes
in too many hearts
stuffed with paper
money;

unpack 'em
and the light
and love
might creep in...

protect the hoard
at all costs
let it fill our ears
better yet,
cover our eyes...

your greed
cannot obscure the truth:
no matter what it buys,
poverty of spirit
can never be
abundance.

in passing...

returning from a visit to see mother, i wandered by a tree with very unusual leaves.

its roots were twisted and tangled and seemed a little bunched up, all but straining to respect the boundary of the sidewalk.

(i can only assume they weren't happy when it was built, but have since resigned themselves to the exchange: a little bondage, to live)

i thought, "hello. i've never seen a tree like you before..."

i sensed a faint but audible reply: "few who pass here think those thoughts or speak to me..."

that nearly stopped me cold, but i had to move on. still, i took a moment to send it some loving energy.

next time i walk that way, i'll stay awhile.

on: being

i know more than i realize,
yet have volumes to learn.

i am healed,
healing,
and still hurt.

i am closed
and open wide;

stitched
and bleeding;

profane
and the holiest of holys.

i am earthbound
and a shining star
unique unto myself
like all the others.

black
woman
spirit

human.

four months ago...

...i wrote this:

some days, i still feel really ugly.

and i don't really know what to do about it.

i don't look at people much anyway, but on days like this, i don't look at all; i can't stand to see myself in their eyes. mirrors are impossible. every compliment is a lie.

i go between acute pain and consummate numbness.  neither allows me to hold my head up any higher...

i can feel the truth fighting with the lies. it makes me tired.
all i want to do is rest...stop the warring factions in my mind...

then, the light surrounds me...i lean into it, appreciating the warmth even as i feel i don't deserve it. my shoulders ache, my stomach rebels.

if i could only stop eating, fade away to nothing... a quiet, soft leaving...

but i can't. if i've gotten this far without hurting myself, i won't start now.

i may never get on the list of the world's most beautiful people, but i'm not bad. i know that. just like i know i'm not worthless.  except for days when i turn into a black hole of need...

i'll never be loved enough, held long enough, kissed deeply enough. nothing takes the emptiness away, but i'll lure you in and let you try. i'm damaged goods...not fit for a trash heap. but since you think i'm cute, come here for a minute and show me...show me...i demand to be filled. appeased. eased. shown some mercy.  i'll laugh at you for trying...but try anyway.

this isn't me all the time. or even most of the time. just sometimes....and, now, there are years between the sometimes.

still, when it comes, it floods me--the emptiness. if i can, i fill it with sweet things. but there are times the bitterness wins out.  of course there's also the bittersweet...the mish moshed yin yang of negatively positive thoughts...

i'm posting it now because while i cannot truthfully claim i'll never feel this way again, i do feel that these moments are destined to be few and even farther between.

this will serve as my reminder.

healing is always waiting to happen.

transmuting transportation

bus passes
passing for
gris gris
around our necks.

constantly traveling,
but do we know
our companions?

cameras
masquerading as
watchful eyes
while our ancestors
lie listless
in their loving.

we have
forgotten to call
their names
even as they shout ours.

gone are conquering roots and
strong hands;
magnetized plastic mantras
guide us to
our destinations.

our ears must attune
to something other than
train announcements.

maybe i should
shake a shekere and
see who comes
running off the platforms
easing from the bus stops
to listen.

mercury retrograde {napowrimo '11, # 24}

retrograde shatters
illusions; we make room for
new realities.

hospital waiting room {napowrimo '11, #16}

bodies succumb while
the spirit remains high: a
prescription for joy.

sex {napowrimo '11, #11}

auburn topped
blackberry triangle
framing fluttery petals

tasty, textured wonder

love incarnate.

making it

it seems many of us are looking for rest,
soft places.
evolution has made us tired
like babies just birthed,
their eyes assaulted by hospital lights.

we need comfort
and deep waters.
if we're lucky
we find them
somewhere between the laundromat
and the cubicle wall.

we will make it past this.
we will.
we have to.
there is more work to do.
more blessings to bring to the world.

rest is only rest
not death.

the cycles continue.

testimony

i've been
abused by family
called sister by friends
(and not sisters)

insulted by almighty african men,
treated like royalty by 'hood niggas;
accepted by latinas,
rejected by sistas.

found love in four arms
instead of two

(call me a whore if you wanna;
shock makes me smile.
at least i know
my power
my limits
and my dreams)

staying within the lines
can break your heart;
running boldly outside them
can free it.

i've been
many things
and will be
many more.

i know
love
loyalty
friendship
beauty
and pain
lie in unexpected places
that cannot always be cleanly labeled
or clearly seen.

you've chosen your road
and might choose another tomorrow.

respect mine
as i respect yours
and we'll get along fine.

the sorceress

there was something about her...

the light magic and shape shifting
the cave she lived in
her calm poise and grace
her wisdom...

she didn't even need a name. she simply was.

the sorceress was my introduction to magic, female divinity, and a whole host of other things i wouldn't discover until over 20 years later.

it's amazing how the things we love as children can inform our paths as we grow.... 

today.

giving thanks.
absorbing.
reflecting.
listening.

dancing to the songs in this moment and wondering where the steps are leading me. what the sound is teaching me.

seasonal

for now, i feel open...like a screen door. air flows in and out at will, refreshing everything.

but a chill is slowly creeping in.  eventually i'll have to close the door, maybe build a fire or make a cup of tea to keep warm.

once i do, i'm wondering who i will want to stay inside with, weaving a double cocoon until spring reemerges...

elementary

platinum blonde
kewpie doll girl
turned beet red
at the slightest embarrassment

really embarrassed
discovering
certain touches don't
go well with classrooms and
the prying eyes of peers.

in hindsight
i wonder
what happened to her at night
and other quiet moments at home

wonder
who was hurting her

hoping
no one hurts her now.

drive

{adapted from a cell phone notation. months old.}

easter pastel palette sky:
pink
violet
hint of peach...

the moon
a solitary pearl
opposite tangerine sun
setting fire to skyscraper glass.

today's observation

with pigeon shit
splattered on concrete subway walls
posing as modern outsider art
who wouldn't miss
new york graffiti?

oya's hands (napowrimo #28)

trying to hold my ground
being pushed and pulled by the winds
of the moon and my womb

a monthly tornado
forcing me to take shelter
in words and candlelit altars

i emerge
unharmed,
but scattered
wandering slowly
among my pieces
seeking reassembly.

to the young man on the train (napowrimo #26)

creamy coffee
with a sunshine smile

where do they make
men like you...
who listen deeply
eyes soft with care
full of yielding strength?

how did you achieve
such early liberation
from the ridiculous posturing
society demands from you?

and can you teach
your brothers
your secret?

emancipation sideshow parade - now with more negroes! (napowrimo #22)

bright lights
pretty pictures
and microphones

tallow candles
sepia flyers
and overworked throats

college days
spent playing and praying
fun with a purpose
dreaming
of being picked
first

mornings in dank cages
spent praying and weeping
dreaming
of family compounds
and palm wine

everyone
a long way
from home.

dressed now,
naked then...

no perks
to being snatched
under cover of night
unlike
being snatched from the stage
in colorful jerseys...
while lawyers wait
to seal dream deals...

capitalization exchanged
for oppression
sort of...

it is
better
now...

we know those men
on wooden platforms
only dealt in nightmares...

it is
better
now...

softer voices
untwisted countenances
they only run from opposing teams
while bloggers crack whips

it is
better
now...