Posts for June 7, 2018 (page 2)

That boiling in your gut
is what happens when
this unfunny, unclever Jay-Walking rip-off 
starts up and you question why
your cousins and brother-in-law
are laughing at liberals
while the video they shared
is nestled between
Malcolm Jenkins with giant notecards 
              of atrocities against black Americans
and “everything wrong with FOX News in one video”.

That boiling in your gut 
is what happens when
your cousin and brother-in-law
are struggling to pay their bills
but still have enough
to toss into your adoption fund
and you shouldn’t argue with people
who’ve given you money,
so you convince yourself
it’s not worth it.

That boiling in your gut
is what happens when
you’ve slandered the sellout politicians
and then learn the cost of
silence
acquiescence
obedience
starts at $20,
or $19.12
after fees.

Today I was asked to think about
what my heart needs
That sacred space within that is
the source of my being 
God-breathed inspiration
The welling up of tears of effervecent joy
The calm stillness of inner peace and 
the assurance that I am loved
People to love in return
Places to make a difference
Times to feel like Ebenezer Scrooge
on Christmas morning and cry out
“Life doesn’t get any better than this!”
Times to say
“For life and ALL that goes with it
Thank you”

Crazy black puppy

You are one year old today

We love you so much 

Small broom closet
Pepper thrown in
before the door closed.
Cinnamon toast 
at age five
salt used instead of sugar.
Car speeding so fast that
when the driver turned right
the car spun in a complete circle
throwing her to the floor
where she stayed till they got home.
Only the elephant believed.
In the years to come
There would be chest pains
Like lightning slicing through 
her breathing. 

typically quick to kick off and go
he didn’t race right in

he waited for my bare feet
nestled our scoots like winter cows

look mommy
my shoes love your shoes

Ten girls won a place in Madame’s famous finishing school.  There was talk of these same ten girls having won a beauty competition,  and people began to say  that they would become models. 

On the first night the girls were given a straw mat to sleep on and an unusual cup of gritty, bitter tea that tasted of ash. Not wanting to appear ungrateful,  nine of the girls drank every drop. The tenth girl, realizing that while pretty, she could probably never become a model, left almost immediately. 
It was on the third day of finishing school that some of the girls began to vomit and feel weak and tired. Some of the girls noticed new,  fine hairs sprouting from the space between their eyes like a unibrow. These new hairs trembled and were sensitive and responsive. They grew up and around like antenna. Madame served a clear broth, leafy dark greens and the bitter tea three times daily. In the morning a saucer of warm honey waited beside the straw mats. For a while everyone missed their families and pets, but most of the girls struggled to stop eating the greens long enough to phone home. The captivity suited them. 
After a while the tea started to be the only thing anyone wanted to drink. It was the only thing they could think about. It only seemed natural to spit. And spit. 
Some of the girls cried when they began spitting up threads. Some spewed then spun the fibers. It was raw silk and madame began to spin. 

Silence. 

Thoughts travel. 

Visions pass. 

A glass divides. 

Demanding urges build. 

Violent judgement’s barricading assault. 

Silence. 

Time moves slower
when rolled over Kentucky hills. 

Ale-8 by the swimming pool, 
lined fenches protecting farms 
on back roads long broken in. 

Cigarettes and a bud light,
smores on the patio round a fire. 
This beautiful home looks like
sin to some, but bless their hearts, 
they can’t say nothing quite right. 

I am 30
Reading Virginia Woolf
Nursing bourbon and coke
at an Applebee’s 
two tickets to WWE in my pocket. 

The set up is it’s own punchline