Posts for June 3, 2017 (page 5)

The God of my childhood stood at the front of the church
Before the polished veneer of pews,
Like a college prof addressing a
Lecture hall of attentive students,
except God did not entertain questions.

Our mealtime grace at home,
Formal and repetitive,
Was offered to the air quickly
Before the mashed potatoes got cold.

I joined the church at 12
After proving to the elders
That I could memorize the books of the Bible.
I stood, in my while dress, and muttered “I do”
to statements I did not understand.

At 18, I chose a college at random,
Too far away for a day trip for my parents,
And found myself at a Southern Baptist college
in the “Bible Belt,”
A term I had not heard.

Here, God wore a different face.
Here, he spoke with a twang
A folksy grandpa, hiding his lessons
in the tales of women going for water at the well
and disciples falling asleep on the job.

He continued to shapeshift,
like a superhero, to save me from falling
From the tallest building
And hitting reality below.

She greets my baby
recognizes scent  

before nudging
nose into blanket  

captures little sock
between teeth, pulls  

into game lasting
ten years. First  

best friend to my son,
who wins her  

heart when he drops
food from high chair,  

holds on her back
to balance upright,  

pulls her ears,
explores her teeth and gums.  

She never growls—
lies on floor patiently  

waiting for baby.

Putting on a tagless  

t-shirt in the dark.

A 50-50 chance

you’ll get it wrong

the first time.

I didn’t bring a bathing suit

how was I to know

that there is a beach 

in the big city. 

I’m glad though

it was more fun that way

I felt like a teenager 

lying on my thrift shop shirt

drinking a warm lime-a-rita 

from a can.

The lake was cold 

in a wake you up

spin you around

kind of way.

Usually in water

I think about all the people

who have drowned.

But today I was just so happy.

we watch the sky

float by in a rain puddle

sun through clouds

a perfect white disc

glows beneath our feet

Dear Reader,
let me tell you what it is to not need the love of a man,
to hear the wind scream your name from a great height,
to be warmed by hot, summer sun,
to be held in your own arms,
the ones Great Mother gave you.

Reader,
let me tell you what it is to not need the touch of another,
to have rain sweat upon your brow and free your hair,
to feel gentle grass swaying up your legs,
to have the wind send fine touches between you and your clothes.

Dear Reader,
let me tell you what it is to be free,
to love beauty alone and for yourself as inky dusk falls around you,
to despise ugliness as an oil slick spilling darkly over pavement,
to feel the oppressive squeezing of your chest at the edge of the vast ocean. 

Reader, when you know these things
we can begin.

Saw her
On the stairs this afternoon
And again
in the bright orange bag
this evening

(Scharleigh Rogers, my neighbor, drowned in the lake Wednesday…… her bright spirit will never be forgotten. Rest In Peace, dear one!)

I bolted awake
A blue flame vivid
From the heat stove
Breathless and scared
My dog growling 
At something unseen

all of my written words:
a river of blackbodies
on an ocean floor.

in my bones is where atlantis
lives / our black apothecary.

the translation of tactile shadows,
a jujusynthesis on the open page,
walking out the charlie horse
from prismatic chimurenga.

a libation walking;
i am land / mine.

happy to be the heretic
for you. reassembling
afro-africa in the ruins
of our collective memory;
my racial profile a cowry, a cameo,
a prose for concrete in a land
built atop shadows of the surreal.

I want a god without pronouns
I want an Old Testament god 
that watches over every Trans kid in America
She puts on her makeup. For the first time.
She goes out in her makeup. For the first time. 
She’s not your entertainment. She is beautiful.
What is it that makes you so bitterly angry?
Is it that it takes no more than this-
No more than allowing,
to Create a Woman?
I want a god that calls you by your name.