Transfiguration
With time, I aim to resurrect
the full breath discovered
in my singing lessons,
my exhale becoming your inhale
With time, I aim to resurrect
the full breath discovered
in my singing lessons,
my exhale becoming your inhale
when i have the energy
i’m gonna back up
all those files
and get back
to you
when i have the energy
i’ll make time
for what really matters
i’ll take care
of the dishes
as they sprout from the sink
like weeds in greener pastures
when i have the energy
i’ll let you know
why i don’t have
the energy
any
-more
i’ll make sure
you know
how i feel
when i have the energy
i’ll make those appointments
i’ve been talking about
for years
go see a doctor
so i don’t let the internet
diagnose me
with less energy
(so they can tell me
my stomach hurts
all the time
from the spicy food)
when i have the energy
i’ll go back to queens
and hit up that halal truck
that doesn’t open till 5
when i have the energy
i’ll finally write my first collection
of poems
novel
screenplay and stand-up routine
i’ll find a better job
than serving ungrateful
fucks complimentary champagne
while they complain about their steak and eggs
on an absence of sleep
when I have the energy
i’ll finally get into a routine
so I can stay consistent
with the world
turning
into something
it didn’t want
to be
when i have the energy
i’ll smile at a stranger
on the train
when they pass
instead of looking down
at my white button
-down stained
to shit
while i slip
into some (un)kind of american dream
when i have the energy
i’ll pull your ashes
out the closet
and scatter you a
-cross
the burn
-out stars
It is a rite of passage,
As usual
I’m too late
Put it off and push away
Hoping for room in the day
Mind awaits
Not magically execute
No drive to present when due
Intentional?
It would seem apathetic
Confirming I’m pathetic
What the fuck?
Deny apathetic intent
Knowing mind and heart are spent
Equalize
Reviewing the equation
As, fear drives procrastination
And alas
It remains me with the night
It remains; fight against light
I wish the world was the way it was
before all of this hate covered us all
like a blanket; suffocating and heavy
leaving us in the dark without a way
for us to see where we are going or
how we are going to get there either
every day more gun violence, taking
innocent lives; nowhere is safe now
killing in church, in school, at work
because of skin color, beliefs, and
all the things that make us unique
they have weaponized our existence
religion; race; sexuality; no safety
to be found anymore, no hiding
the world was never perfect, ever
but at least once upon a time we
didn’t have to be so afraid to live
my heart hurts so badly, for all
the people who have to live with
the pain of what we have become
the release
a grief lyric for lumumba
we made our way toward the waterfall, abbie and me, our phones lighting the way down slick, stone stairs. i carried the ornate box with your cremains. abbie held the screwdriver. i’d have to unscrew the bottom, the only access to the plastic bag you were in.
in the frigid november air we kept our heads down, the circles of our phone lights no match for the inky dark. we trudged beside a crowd of chattering moonbow seekers, none of which were likely to say goodbye to their child that night.
the bustling throng in the upper observatory obscured our view. all we could see before us was wet, rock wall. i couldn’t let you go in that crowd, so we changed course, toward the lower observatory where few had gone.
to keep from falling, our gazes never strayed from the slippery, stony steps. when we’d gone down as far as it were possible to go, a thin metal rail stood before us. when we lifted our eyes we saw was magic.
there she was, cumberland falls, that grand lady, dressed resplendently in a gown of falling water. at the sight of her i drew in my breath, stunned by the wonder. it felt as if my heart would beat out of my chest.
as magical as that, above the lady’s cascade, a perfect arch of glowing white, like a halo, lit the lofty night. the moonbow i feared i wouldn’t see, like a welcoming smile greeted me.
though i’d never seen her, this waterfall knew who i was and what i’d come to do, and all at once i knew her, too. if nature ever equaled divine love, mama god in nature had come, and asked for you, my son.
my fear of your ashes vanished. abbie gave me the screwdriver, and turned her iphone flashlight toward me, so could see to for what i’d come to do. mama waited patiently while i loosened the screw, my fingers, numb from the cold. it was hard, but you do what you gotta do.
in one swift motion i pulled the plastic bag out, and set the box on the wet ground. i held your ashes to my heart, letting myself feel the weight, and how they shifted in the bag like sand. everything around me faded: abbie, the rest of the crowd, until there was nothing left but you, and me, a waterfall, and a moonbow. i held you for a long time, cradling you, as my tears mingled with a soft spray of water.
i undid the twist tie, and heard the clank of the metal tag attached hit the ground. with every bit of tenderness in me i opened the bag. i dropped my head. it was time to say my last goodbye before i released you. now i lifted my head, mama waterfall, in her white gown, stretched her arms toward me, saying “mama, it’s time.”
i took a deep breath, leaned over the rail, and poured what remained of you between her stone feet and luminous skirt.
“goodbye, son. i love you so much. you belong to god and the ancestors now.” and to mama waterfall.
“thank you, thank you, thank you,” i whispered into the night, for letting me be lumumba ayinde ade bandele’s mama, and for mothering me tonight.
i took a deep and healing breath, knowing you are one with nature now, and i will find you in the breath of the wind, the blue of the sky, and in the slanted, silver rain, and every time i visit mama waterfall, in her fine mist i’ll feel you touch my face, making my heart a waterfall.
my heart is a waterfall, flowing deep and wide, and wild.
Daily, the internet delivers
my ghosts to me. Dad
leaning on his walking
stick beside Sandy Pond.
Mom and Maggie cooing
over me, a swaddled infant.
Mother’s Day, Father’s Day
produce an avalanche of the dead.
Now every day is Samhain.
The dead return to visit
their loved ones, post
comments on Facebook.
I cleaned out the garage
while the rain came steady
and the neighborhood
cat found a nap in our
too small and very used
car seat
a testament that our
growing children
needed us
at one time
Guns N’ Roses played
on my phone quiet
I forgot the year
just swept out
last year’s leaves
