Posts for June 3, 2024 (page 3)

forgive me it’s been
awhile since i tried 
to pick apart life 
into a packet of poems
there are two cats
grooming on my bed
and i forget which 
one started it first
and if that really matters?
i hear the screen door
snap outside and 
remember tomorrow
is trash day but i will
wake up and try to 
beat the truck to the curb
and throw all the hot
bags and plastic-dream
to-be recycled and check
off one task to only add
another. there isn’t even
enough time to lick my
skin soft, to pull my hairs
out of my face clean if 
only all i had to do was
take care of myself

                    A takeout box, a small  gesture of affection 
      Upended   with grains  of rice spilling out  like  your guts 
  Rotten with venom when you get angry. You split open- your mouth and your stomach- and I can see the heaving fleshy masses wet with blood and buzzing with insects laying eggs in the grooves.  I stare at it, mesmerized, as you lecture about how people don’t like to be ignored. People don’t like to be yelled at.   It takes Guts   To be so mean. It’s like you forgot how to show care  other  than through food-  The basics of what to provide your   children with  the  shallow  language      of      

                                                                 money .

                 Lately,    I’ve only    talked  to             you from   across                                                    a                         restaurant   table  .

                                                                         What             a                waste    .   
         

(A collage poem constructed from excerpts of the writings of Frederick Douglass and various news article headlines.)

Indeed, it is not uncommon for slaves even to fall out and quarrel among themselves                       

        What Does It Take to Stop Crips and Bloods From Killing Each Other?

about the relative goodness of their masters,  

        Biker war brewing in Chicago as Mongol Nation pushes onto Outlaws Motorcycle Club         turf.                      

each contending for the superior goodness of his own over that of the others.            

        Chicago Bears fan stabbed to death in Jacksonville.

They seemed to think that the greatness of their masters was transferable to themselves.            

        Why Did Trump Supporters Storm the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6?

It was considered as being bad enough to be a slave;             

        Navy SEALs and Marines charged in death of Special Forces soldier.

but to be a poor man’s slave was deemed a disgrace indeed!            

        Homeless man charged with murdering another homeless man in Marathon.

Can’t leave the world in this shape.  Wonder if I need to be a shape-shifter to reshape it?

Take all the wars and shape them into peace.

Take all the hate and reshape it to love

Take all the bitterness and resentment and shape it into forgiveness

Take narcissism and reshape it into accountability

However, I will continue to reshape myself and perhaps the more I do that, the more I will reshape this world

I hope I never have to rack my brain 

The old mirror stares
and your current self looks back.
Oh the stories that mirror would tell
if it could reflect the past.
Childhood relived in its image,
viewing simpler times
when tears weren’t all
your soul could hear.
Yet there is no going back
through the looking glass.
Only memories transport through time
your souls desperate cries
to remind, relive, return.

I have an old photo that hangs on my wall now
In a cast iron frame with bubble glass
It used to hang at my grandparents house
On the wall above my pappy’s bed
Too creepy to be kept in a common room

It is a faded, ghostly image of my great-great-aunts
The aunts of my  great-grandfather
Wearing strange hats, the background faded
They are a bit faded too, staring off at nothing
Strange looking yet so familiar

I brought them home with me after my mammy died
And they spent years tucked away at my aunts
Hidden in a room upstairs, away from people
As though they were something to fear
Until I claimed them as mine

I saged them and hung them up quite proudly
Thinking of childhood stories from my pappy
About how when he was young the frame
Would vibrate on the wall, shaking violently
He swore it was true, of course

Perhaps it was, but they don’t move for me
They only watch, and it’s a comfort
For they are haunting, yes, but also
They are mine; my people; my blood
My spectral ancestors

She is here beside me 
Peacefully sleeping 
Her long legs across my lap.
I’ve loved her 
for twenty two years,
carried her and her twin.
I am beginning to
think I might have 
the opportunity to 
truly know her.

6/4/2024
K. W.

Growing up, I only knew it as the worm tree.
We’d pick them off its foliage for fish
bait in the heat of summer,

long beans bumping our arms.
This magic tree in the backyard
growing the perfect worms.

So many, they’d fall on our heads
if we stood beneath its branches,
and on occasion too many,

and it’d get so hole-y it looked bare.
Sometimes, we’d rip off whole leaves and
tuck them into jars to carry our captives

across the yard or down to the creek
to catch fish from pools
deep enough to stand the droughts.

I never learned its real name until
I was a teen, or that the worms are
actually caterpillars until I was an adult.

I still love to think about stories of the
worm tree, but my favorite part now
are its blossoms buzzing with bees

until they fall to coat the ground like snow.

Congratulations
you get to spend your morning
sweeping hundreds of the shards of glass
that decorate your front seats and car floor

But they missed the stash hidden in the side door

Salutations
to the lady who weaponized the police against me last week
because she didn’t believe that I did what she asked me to
and now I have to choose to stay and argue my case or get to the car and flee

This week we get chicken for free

Blessings
to the sister crying in the car next to me
because it’s all too much or not enough or, both
and maybe none of the above, or maybe it’s neither, but the stoplight turned green

If you’ve been there before, you know what I mean

Prayers
to you for the losses you’ve endured
for all of the times you’ve seen no footprints in the quicksand where you are
for the ability to keep going when this life finds you with negative energy and forces

Love to you for making better choices