it’s been 21 years since you passed
i’m 23 now
ain’t time funny like that
the only trace of you that’s left
are some facial features,
some old pictures,
and half a memory
people always told me as a kid
that I looked so much like you
maybe that’s why
when I look in mirrors
I see you staring back at me
I tossed my hopes out into the bin.
What a childish thing to cling to still!
Then, I paused
to observe the wind playing with the leaves,
listen to an ensemble of birds,
watch my neighbors stomp out onto the street,
and sing along with each other demands for a change,
their voices rising higher and higher,
as the sun came out from behind the clouds,
and shined brighter and brighter,
watched them share water, flowers, and kind words with one another.
I returned to the bin
and retrieved the hopes I had disposed of moments ago.
It may still be worth holding onto these, after all.
Like a brick –
staring at the window,
weighing on the page
blanked out,
where the ball penned
erractic fossils
of enthusiasm recalled
shamefully brushed
onto the rage
before the shouts
reached the margin,
textured mess
begging to evolve –
ready to be thrown.
turns out it requires two cubic yards of soil to make heaven
a raised bed of enormous bok choy, kale, and collards that open
like spiraling green mouths
native pollinators smell sweet and herbal
the scent of honeysuckle wafts through the windows
on the cool, Detroit air as I rest my body
beside my friend
we fall asleep three nights in a row
talking about the roads we’ve trod together
about the days when we held each other
together at the seams
and three mornings in a row
we wake up to sit on the stoop
of the Garden of Eden
on the Eastside of Detroit in June
we smack our freshly plucked mint and lemon balm
before they are torn and sprinkled
into the peaches and watermelon and blueberries
this is love
we smile and say
almost disblieving
this is love
“His disciples remembered that it is written:
Zeal for your house will consume me.”
–John 2:17 NIV
Amen, I do believe
that if Jesus my King
were to walk into
the White House today,
He would not be presenting
as the Peace be with you type.
No, He’d be flipping all the tables
scattering executive orders,
cracking whips on backsides
and driving out the billionaires
for the tyranny they are creating
out of this once great
and beautiful nation.
I am curious (Poetry)
My professor at Berea,
in Sociology class,
asked if anyone knew who
Lena Nyman was.
—
No one answered aye
but a female student, asks:
“Were you curious, do
you watch porn, sir? Was
—
it true she had sex in it,
without using a body double?”
He was saved by the bell,
but his face was crimson.”
I always felt you,
as someone dangerous.
And now,
I’m in deep shit trouble.
Angelic curls,
intense eyes.
You are the devil in disguise.
Yet, I’m ready to walk,
into the flames of hell to be with you.
I don’t give a shit if I burn.
RESIST diaspora.
quell EMPATHY.
SAFE SPACE for hegemony.
(images from yelp/words hanging in third street stuff)
A lone man stands
In front of a line of tanks
Is he mad?
Already hundreds perhaps thousands
Have been killed in months
Of protests.
He climbs up the tank
What does he say to those inside?
When he is on the ground again
The first tank maneuvers
To go around.
He moves to block it.
For a moment his steadfast resistance
Creates a stalemate
Then he is whisked away
The watching world breathes again
But cannot forget the
Man in Tiananmen Square
Who stood fast
