Posts for June 19, 2026 (page 2)

Am I the same lazy man I have always been?
Looking down at my right leg I see the scar that the other me carried
for over half of a century, a wound only a quarter inch from severing
my femoral artery, a quarter inch from me watching my oxygen-rich blood
spill out onto the ground under the eaves of my house because while doing 
a simple repair I had not done the simple repair of putting a new spring 
on the blade guard of my circular saw, there it was and there it is,
the foot-long scar ending a quarter inch from ending my life,
a linear life-long reminder of the circular luck that required only
a dozen dozen stitches to bring me into the fertile fields of an old age
orbited by children and grandchildren, and to think but for
a quarter inch they would not have known me for that infinite slice
of time we intersected;
I guess I can say that after the scar I never tried very hard, just sat back
twirling words around the hula hoop of my mind, never doing much
with them but holding them dear, and now even in this after-life
I try never to lose sight of my femoral artery

It is with a heavy heart,
that I lie here in bed, 
staying at rest
unless moved on by an outside force.

“The sadness”
it’s foolish to call it anything else,
has made a home in my chest
sinking me into the mattress
in a rate of slow suffocation.

“I do this to myself”
I whisper.
Yet the inaction continues.

from
char hardened hillside lines,
misted with glints of afterflame
to
foxglove first to round off again
boundlessly compensatorily pink pink pink
we
all wanted to memorize 
the shape of the same ember 
all taking turns
taking a look

My body buckles
Standing at the Door of No Return
In the House of Slaves
On Gorée Island
Spirit crushed by the weight of chains
Breath suspended       I can’t breathe  

Soul rocks back and forth  
Listening to the dirges’       guttural moans
Of my ancestors
As they walked through the portal
Bloodied backs
Cracked open   leather whips
Branded buttocks   backs   faces  chests 
With hot irons       skin sizzling

Not a door leading to
A pathway of hope                     
                But
A door that ripped nursing babies from their mothers’ milk
A door that castrated the humanity of the African diaspora
A door that stripped enslaved Africans of their language      sama ruu dafa metti            
              A door of damnation           A door of profit  

I gaze across the vast Atlantic Ocean   
A watery grave for two million    

Those who survived the Atlantic Slave Trade
Arrived on these ghastly shores
Iron shackles on wrists   ankles
Metal collars with spikes     bells  
Placed around necks like wild canines  

This is the sordid history    AmeriKKKan history

I caught a balloon mid-flight
it stopped ’til appeared a green light
that winked with such flair
“Just a quick puff of air,”
in the name of good, healthy eyesight.

The planet Slogblarf’s rotation
is caused by two guys
standing on top of the north pole
in really heavy armor
and really thick helmets
beating each other over the head
with giant swords.
Slogblarf’s tilt is caused by
much of a south pole church’s
right seated membership
being away on vacation
and a service that’s running
just a little longer
than normal.

Today, we remember those 
Whose freedom came two and a half years
After the Emancipation was proclaimed

A dream of Freedom
Realized
161 years ago
The enslaved of Galveston, TX
Were the last to be freed

They rejoiced 
A celebration
Jubiliation

We join together as a nation
To celebrate and remember 
June 19, 1865
As Freedom Day

Since 2021
Juneteenth
Honored as a Federal Holiday

threadbare and patchwork,
this heart is still a blanket
that keeps us both warm. 

She’s longing along,
Her heart moving, legs lagging.
Soon, stumble and fall.

The mirror test
is used to determine

whether an animal
recognizes itself.

A mark is placed
somewhere on the body.

A spot only visible
through reflection.

If the animal reaches
for the mark,

scientists conclude
it understands

the image is its own.

I think about this
whenever someone surprises me.

The affair.

The secret debt.

The hidden grief.

The version of themselves
they kept

just outside the frame.

The version they showed
me to get the version of me

they wanted.

For years,
I mistook familiarity

for knowledge.
Mistook access

for understanding.
As though love

was a mirror
capable of showing

the entire animal.

I tried pointing out
the hidden parts

as an act of trust.

I tried hiding
everything.

Not knowing the parts
that would be perceived

as marks.

Now I wonder
how many marks

we carry
that cannot be seen

even when standing
directly in front

of ourselves.