The wallpaper
in every corner
of my mind
bears your name.
When did you move in?
My plan
was to keep you
as a fun distraction
while I packed up my life,
tore it apart,
and built another
somewhere else.
Then you ruined
everything I had planned.
I miss you
all the way from Norway
to Italy.
If only I could forget you.
Tell me
what you’re thinking.
Let me get lost
in you.
I don’t know
what to do.
Her face tipped to the sky, shut eyes and a smile of resolute warmth.
Her dark skin felt and celebrated by the sun,
legs crossed on the sandy shores, hips indent the soft floor.
Lips parted to voice her name, one that clicks on her tongue, one engraved
in the sand but never washed away—not by the Dutch,
or the British, or the French. She sits at the edge of Gamtoos River,
the place of her birth, where the water first embraced her.
A deep breath in and salt pushed in from the ocean hits her nose,
settles her, and at once tears stream down her face.
Her face wet, but lacking shame. Ears
rapt by the steady drum beat of commemoration.
She cries for her fiance, whose blood stains dry up
and choke out the match lock musket. For the baby she bore,
not long before it crawled back into her womb and shriveled.
For her father, whose scent lingered like his skin glistened,
for under the kiss of the heat he guided cattle, slow and deliberate and sweet.
Despite his incessant stench she often nuzzled into him,
sniffed his bare chest. Now her nose does not recall,
her tears strike the river, meet in communion to honor his silent fall.
Tears for her mother whose face is but a distant memory, who only cradled her babe until she turned two or three.
She weeps and
at the back of her throat sings a persistent roar.
Her grief shall not be ignored, it sweeps across
To distant shores.
The evil supervillain
created a cloned and devious
very evil henchman
to do all of the very evil things
that the evil supervillain
once paid non-clone henchmen
to do.
Move the chairs and set the trap
try to punch the superhero
and fall down when he punches back
set more traps and move more chairs
stand here and pull this string
distract him while I steal
that priceless diamond ring.
The cloned evil henchman did all these things
without a paystub and without a complaint
because he thought like the evil supervillain
and reasoned like the evil supervillain.
And then a day came
when the evil supervillain gave the order
to move some chairs and set some traps
and the cloned evil henchman
ate him.
I have a reoccurring nightmare
A reoccurring nightmare
A reoccurring nightmare.
It goes this way:
The shadows
Cast by the world as the sun sets
Move from their places.
They creep and seep into my skin.
I know I’m dreaming,
But I can’t wake up.
I have a reoccurring nightmare
A reoccurring nightmare
A reoccurring nightmare.
I think it goes this way:
The sun
No matter how sorrowfully I beg it
Won’t stay up in the sky any longer.
The night
Does not delay.
It does not delay for me.
The darkening sky crumbles
And crashes down on my head.
I know I’m dreaming,
But I can’t wake up.
I have a reoccurring nightmare
A reoccurring nightmare
A reoccuring nightmare.
I don’t remember much of it in the morning.
The only thing that follows me into day
Is a cold terror.
I’m not afraid of the shadows, but of dreaming
Of the moments when I know I’m dreaming.
I know I’m dreaming,
But I can’t wake up.
Rain patters out large
round the catface shapes
of the poplar leaves
a snake plant waits
slitherless green
on the livingroom mantlepiece
next to the petrified hunk of tree
Uncle Vince once gave John
Who gives a care
now that the squirrels
and even the owls
are hidden?
All this live-long night
there’s rain rhythms
for me to sleep by
did you like your whiskey neat,
or was it moonshine that you favored?
Somehow, I imagine storebought,
and not because the only story I ever heard
about you, growing up, is how you’d slither back
into your parents’ home and to my father’s room
to rob his piggybank to fund your drink.
To think that’s all I know of you, grandfather.
To think that’s all of you your namesake told us.
You weren’t a young man, Grandfather.
The cusp of thirty when he was born,
a few months past when his mother died.
Was it grief that sent you to the bottle?
Somehow, I imagine not.
How does it feel, Grandfather, to be
the villain in your own family’s tales?
Is there an argument for your defense?
I’m here, and though my father held
his grudge close to his heart until that heart
grew tired and faltered into silence,
it’s not too late to soften mine toward you.
Tell me what wounding left you indifferent
to the boy you fathered. Tell me you tried
and failed and tried again. I’ve heard
forgiveness is a gift, but mostly to the one
who offers it. I’m still waiting, grandfather,
here with a pen in hand, a blank page
ready for your words.
I promise that you are the notebook that I will write in. The stories, poems and thoughts will be written in you and you alone. I am blessed to know that you will be the one to hold my truth in the coming years. I chose you as you have chosen me.
This is my promise to you!
Sand between my toes
Under the beautiful
serene sky
The breath of wind cools
my forehead
As I slowly close my eyes
feeling so euphoric
and at peace
A touch so light as breeze
passes over my
body
As the sun shines warm
upon my face
This moment so real
As the willow trees sway
back-and-forth
The beauty I’m witnessing
can’t match anything
In this life at this moment
Clouds at play in the azure
space
Listening to the winds hymns
Earths eternity kisses upon my brown skin
Penetrated
yet dissolved
Earths’ beautiful simplicity
has forever imprinted
itself onto
Me.
in your last letter, your spelling was deplorable
you are always so lazy, it’s who you are
you aren’t beautiful, you’re mediocre at best
I want to take a nap on the beds of your poetry
you do everything with every ounce of your soul
the sun misses you, that’s why it kisses you so hard
being seen has been the greatest love I’ve ever known
Pick your people,
Put em in a pocket,
Shake em around
Till they feel right at home
You feelin’ sad?
Maybe take out ole’ Fred
He’ll smile and wave,
And do a little jig
Wisdom, perhaps?
I’ve a pal for that, too
She’s aged and calm,
And her friends call her Lou
And if you’re mad?
Try Sensible Sally,
She’ll talk you out
Of your messes and strifes
Pocket people
Will pleasure you, grow you,
Give you a hand
But once you take em out,
They can’t ever go back in.
