Eugenia
Betty
Nettie / Estelle
Katherine /Fairy B / Francis / Sarah
Sarah / Willis Ann / Charlotte
Celia
They paved the way
Their prayers made a way
The shoulders I stand on
Ancestors I honor every day
I carry their DNA
I keep and share their dreams
The woman they can depend on
To pass the torch to future generations
Of Warrior Women
I am Eugenia
I am Present
My heaven’s backdrop is blue
and purple, colors that swirl,
mingle in celestial orbit . . .
My heaven is eternal dark
chocolate, self-striping sea salt
raspberry, mint, caramel . . .
My heaven’s gift—Ariane perfume
from E-bay (discontinued 1984)
Otherwise, heliotrope, jasmine, lily . . .
My heaven tucks me in thick flannel
like only my mother could—
a dream-come-true cocoon . . .
My heaven plays a Schubert sonata
violin and piano teasing each other
twining in timeless lines . . .
black leather jackets and cigarette smoke surround us
the murmuring crowd stands beneath the ornate plafond
bronze angels silently trumpeting above us, where arches curve to meet a painted starry sky
tuning guitars and mic checks reverberate
one, two
one, two
our pulse lives in the valley between anticipation and exhilaration
we don’t recognize these fleeting moments
because we live in them before they pass
young and carefree
taut-bodied and starry eyed
exchanging glances with you, familiar stranger
until darkness envelopes us
and the crowd’s roar consumes us
we lose sight of each other
and let the blast beats punch a new path
for us to navigate our way back to where yearning eyes met
smirking lips mouth gritty verses
our bodies rock in syncopation
the charged rhythms escalate our attraction
until the last note’s echo scatters among
the ceiling’s chipped constellations
or crawls back into one of the forgotten trumpet’s bells
the lights come up
…no encore will ever sate me like you.
Was my gig twenty
six years of ADL’s fine
tuning skills, strength, thoughts
ro resume a purposeful
Life honoring your Own goals.
Sitting by the lake
everything is in stillness,
even my self, sleeps
I was sitting by the lake
when Penelope called me earlier today
about her wedding plans, then asked
if I was aware of myself as ZZ.
Aware of myself? Not really, but then
yes, maybe I am. Could that be the answer?
I don’t know.
Is her beautiful soon-to-be husband,
Narayan, aware that he’s darker than
most African-Americans? Are people in
wheelchairs aware of themselves?
Of course, but not in a philosophical way,
only in a I’m trying to live my life way.
Penelope said I didn’t understand.
I said after living with a man in the navy,
the Aids epidemic, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,
gay marriage and all its push back,
I understood what it’s like not
to be able to openly live as you are.
I told Penelope I joined the navy
because of Popeye,
he’s been saying
I yam what I yam
since about the time I was born.
His/her wedding day
has the color dragonfly.
Mauve would not be right.
At a buffet of bacon and eggs,
French toast and pancakes,
an abundance of good will
fills every table and spills
into the garden–
arms wrapped around shoulders
lingering goodbyes–
echoes of a Shakespearean
wedding scene.
I love the rust bucket
that is my car.
It is an old,
reliable
companion.
I am uncomfortable
around brand-new things.
They are too shiny, too stiff,
too sharp around the edges.
They are not time tested.
They make me nervous.
I love things that are
dependable, comfortable,
soft to the touch,
familiar to me.
Like you
Blank mind, tired body
Fresh out of thoughts
Full head, rehashing dread
Worried by my oughts
Pen to paper, write it down
Then burn it all to hell
Leave no trace, saving grace
No water in the well
