2002, carpet brand new
The white leather couches
They’ve seen some years
So have you
Wet concrete in the backyard
For a regulation basketball hoop
I’ll stick my hands in
My brother will too
I was only 7 when you built it
Now 30 is knocking
Much like the lilac bush
I’m feeling wilted
I want to go home
To the oak and yellow kitchen
But time has tarnished the walls
Nicotine stained, you smoke filtered
Girls play on the sidewalk, hopscotch,
tossing, hopping, keeping time
from windows their mamas watch
scaring off boys with that thing on their minds.
Tossing, hopping, keeping time
they know the score, not so innocent
scaring off boys with that thing on their minds
learning their power, their hold over men.
They know the score, not so innocent,
the growing bloom, night into day
learning their power, their hold over men,
subtle smiles, their eyes betray.
The growing bloom, night into day,
from windows their mamas watch,
subtle smiles, their eyes betray,
girls play on the sidewalk, hopscotch.
Grandmother said
dress your best when you go to town
hold your head high
driving 7 miles from the small house at
the edge of the cotton field
Granddaddy plowed rigorously
when the field dried
& he could no longer plow
he became a magician
making school children laugh until
he lost his mind & was institutionalized
Grandmother, the most righteous
her father, a missionary to Indians
her ancestors, slave-owners
in ’38 her husband, his money lost to
crooked bankers
that never recorded his payments
drove that dirt lane in their black cars
family possessions – passed down
heirlooms & old quilts
saved for decades
were hauled away.
Alone at a window she barely knows
In a chair that does not fit her fanny
A view of a yard that is not her own
Askew at an angle through tears
Little tornadoes of snow climb up yon’ hill
Frozen drifts chill the old heart of granny
First night in the home, feels like jail
On the other hand, she’s keen to let something go
What could it be, it’s been nagging for a long time now
Finally she can sigh like an old flat tire coming to the end of its ride
Now there is less of everything
All gone in this forlorn forecourt of a motel
Turned into an old folk’s home out on the highway
All grown up and gone away
It’s only to stay now, quiet, and let it all pass out of existence
Whatever will come, come now
Silently taking my last drags
Burning my fingertips
As it reaches the filter
This stink will linger on me
And on my clothes
Much like you do
On my mind
Impossible to wash off
Impossible to forget
There are burn holes
In most of my possessions
They add character
And a form of beauty
In the imperfections
Much like how yours
Did the same to you
My parents tell me
“That’s a nasty habit”
“You need to quit”
I know
That they’re right
But I keep on
Lighting up another
And I continue
Leaving open space
In my bed
That’s meant for you
Sleeping always tongueless
blue stone
ribbons rivers
this throatless
formless water
sweeps over
the soul’s faces
and from the splashes:
a sound
a shape
they say don’t take things personally
if only it were that easy
if only i didn’t sit up late overanalyzing every
interaction from the day before
if only my thoughts didn’t ruminate over your
body language
if only there was a way to let go of this cinder
block of insecurity tied to my ankles
i am drowning in the things about myself
i cannot change, though desperately wish i could
