Saturday, December 06, 2008
Facing All Sides
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Gumsmacking & Hair-Twirling
It's late, we're texting...probably, scratch that, almost definitely shouldn't be. I was caught a little off guard. The texting turns to talking, & the summer night air must have him completely drunk cause he's talking about what a great couple we'd make. I laughed throatily, and it isn't that easy to make me laugh. I would have to learn to submit, he cautions. I love it when guys do this, inform of the hard work & the change necessary to be with them, before I've decided I want to be with them. He reminds me it doesn't involve genuflecting, but I'd have to let him lead.
Truth be told if you find my buttons, I can be quite old skool & truth be told this is nothing new. My girlfriends calling it playing dumb, or letting him be the man, the matchmaker on Oprah, which my grandmother insisted I watch, called it the pickle jar effect. She said that women have been trained to have & get it all, & we must remember, although we can do it ourselves, to ask him to open the pickle jar for us. I call it hair-twirling & gumsmacking, reminiscent of the secretarial pool in the fifties. I say fuck that, you wanna lead, lead no one has to give you permission or make it easy for you to do so, just go, hard. You want to do things for someone you offer, "let me get that for you" I didn't invent the phrase it's commonly used. I'm just not a hair-twirler, perhaps that means I get to sleep in the middle of my bed as often as I like, maybe it means some nights I won't want to, it might keeps some red lines off my future-ex-husband-list,I might continue to have 99 problems but a bitch won't be one, but it definitely won't get me stuck dimming so someone else can shine, & it definitely won't keep me from looking myself in the eye.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Through the Fire
Didn't go with my gut on some passiveness
didn't have time to scream, doubt I would've
smokey grey, went for a second to bright azure
the color of every hard head/eye injury I've ever had
swallowed all too quickly by black
loud bang followed by deafening silence
...Am I? .....Am I?
no need to look for the ancestor's embrace
I knew instinctively this is not how I die
blind and in pain
heartbeat choking me
summon strength don't ask for it,
face screwed in concentration, either went unnoticed or or mistaken
cause cous had to stop at the liquor store on the way to the ER
made it home unable to see or dress myself
waited for maman to speak
knew there was a lesson in this
she remained silent, but then there came enough words
"you're too independent, too superhuman,
no one ever knows you need help, let alone how to help you"
"I got you, I'll hold you down" promises unfulfilled
even got snapped on a couple times
then came the unexpected waves of righteous anger
permission granted for me to be hurt and angry too
wasn't acrid, nooo, just acright
and this time last year I was barely here
hovering above seeing 360, past present, and future converged
so self-aware I was frightened
when I realized I was alone, or at least so I thought
I got too scared and clung back to earth
roamed this year warrior no more
would be baby, would be dominated, and done wrong
for compliments, laughter, songs and poems in my ear
they came little anyway
and the princess gently prodded: remember who you are love
now I do
maman forgive me
I now embrace the weight of my birthright
I'm atrophied but will ask for no more strength
for I am certain now you ask no more of me than I can bear
to those who needed their space
I ask no more of what you are unwilling to give
I will let the skies cry for me when I cannot
I know now there is no greater loneliness
than rejection of self
Monday, April 28, 2008
Nightmare Dreams & Deja Vu
Anniversary of King's death they swear we livin the dream, I swear we livin the nightmare.
Been focused on home this week, missed a lot of news. I dreamt I was coming out of some spot wit my mans after rapppin about Steve Biko. Felt the heat before I even looked outside & even though I knew what time it was, looked at me watch, damn't I don't even wear a watch, saw them boys, mad deep & felt for my glock, damnit I don't even got a glock. Saw my mans get hit & dive behind some 26's, went back in 'for I was even really out, dispatched the dispatch before I knew what was p, exited the avatar state in cuffs. Prayed hard my kids wouldn't believe the tv, would know what ma was on. Prayed harder if I was sent off by fire, it would like devil's night, not no damn candlelit vigil. Woke up, with breathin feelin odd, pseudo freedom feelin temporary. Caught the news Sean Bell's killers got off. Didn't experience the shock, that surprises me folks are still capable of feelin...it was deja vu.
Tell me something
what you think would happen if
everytime they kill a black boy
then we kill a cop
everytime they kill a black man
then we kill a cop
you think the accident rate would lower subsequently?
June Jordan
Been focused on home this week, missed a lot of news. I dreamt I was coming out of some spot wit my mans after rapppin about Steve Biko. Felt the heat before I even looked outside & even though I knew what time it was, looked at me watch, damn't I don't even wear a watch, saw them boys, mad deep & felt for my glock, damnit I don't even got a glock. Saw my mans get hit & dive behind some 26's, went back in 'for I was even really out, dispatched the dispatch before I knew what was p, exited the avatar state in cuffs. Prayed hard my kids wouldn't believe the tv, would know what ma was on. Prayed harder if I was sent off by fire, it would like devil's night, not no damn candlelit vigil. Woke up, with breathin feelin odd, pseudo freedom feelin temporary. Caught the news Sean Bell's killers got off. Didn't experience the shock, that surprises me folks are still capable of feelin...it was deja vu.
Tell me something
what you think would happen if
everytime they kill a black boy
then we kill a cop
everytime they kill a black man
then we kill a cop
you think the accident rate would lower subsequently?
June Jordan
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Can't Help It
She is hurriedly pulling her pants up after glancing back at me with a soft, questioning look. My face was firm. She’d fully planned on ditching yoga and lunch with the girls to lounge naked in bed here with me, but I insisted, quite carefully, of course. She looks back, long and deep this time, I cannot understand why she so enjoys staring when she doesn’t see. She has to know that she is blind by now. Something uncomfortably hot is radiating through my arms and before it gets to my fingertips I realize I’m actually angry with her for all of this. I really am insane, and she looks so beautiful with her clothes on, she should have been born in jeans and a t-shirt, maybe it’s her virtue I find so attractive. Perhaps it’s not insanity, but evil.
I watch the sunlight streaming so bright through the windows that the sheets and duvet have the ultra white brilliance of fresh snow at noon. It is a color only a woman can achieve, nothing at my place is ever that white. I look around at the bright picture frames and personal touches that let you know so much about her. She, like so many of the rest of them, are expressive in ways I cannot begin to be in their space. She has arranged everything so that you know the smell of her neck just below her earlobe when you look around, or at least the intimacy of it. It’s intimacy I cannot afford at first glance, she is so much more courageous than I. Blind courage is little more than stupidity though. I try to take everything in, as if it’s the time I’ll see it, and yet I know it’s not. She will leave the door unlocked and I will push my way in again a few more times. What the hell is wrong with me? I have patiently waited long enough, I’m sure she is gone and hasn’t forgotten her keys, or wallet, or any of the other myriad items she can never seem to keep in that duffel bag of a purse. It’s safe for me to shower. She hates when I shower right after, she says it’s like I’m washing her off, trying to cleanse myself of her. No amount of informing her of how often she showers afterward, or how unpleasant walking around sticky-dicked is, has been able to convince her that it’s just a shower, nothing more. So I guess she can see, she just doesn’t want to, I suppose that isn’t blindness so much as stupidity.
I turn the shower on and with the water comes the truth. I shouldn’t have slept with her again. I was ready to end it and she knew it was coming and as wrong as it is, that kept me from it. When she’s sad and expecting it I can’t do it, I need to catch her off guard. This will crush her, I will crush her. Why am I doing this? I feel so sorry, it’s a heavy sorry, too thick for the water to wash away, and yet I guess I’m not sorry enough not to. This isn’t my first time and it won’t be my last. I’m not even done with her yet, it’s beginning in a sense. I will break up with her, she will ask a hundred unanswerable questions and a thousand she already knows the answers to. She’ll fall apart and put herself back together, though not quite right. She’ll throw herself into her work and back into church and build ten foot walls around herself and I will break them down again just a few more times so that I know she isn’t really the one, or that I’m not alone, or that I’ve still got it, or all of them. I’ve heard all the psychology all the doctrine, I know why, insecurity, hatred of women, love of women, lust, my mother, whatever I’ve heard it all before and it still doesn’t stop me, and yet I love her. I love her and not enough to stop me, and I’ll be somewhere between a romantic proposal down on one knee, the kind that moves her friends to tears when they hear it, and smoking slowly watching her heart break til it beats no more, for months maybe a year. I know it’s wrong, I do, but I can’t help it, because this is what love is to me, and God damn me to hell, but if she doesn’t cry like my mother did for my father, or cling to me, the way my mother did because I was all she had left, then I just don’t feel loved. Thankfully, before I can reach the thought of what my mother would say if she really knew, I hear the loud drone of my cell phone vibrating on the porcelain of the sink. It is a stupid place to put your phone and I have learned that the hard way more than once, but someday she might want to see, and my phone details would certainly be an eye-opener. Today is the day for saving something sweet to come back to later, she has to miss me, it isn’t the day for confrontation and reserving a table at her place to eat shit for it later.
The other one is calling, she looks like the girl next door with a real wild streak, which she uses to hide her neediness. It’s so cute how she thinks she can handle me. She’s more turned on by my worst moments, she’s fun and intoxicating and I could never love her, but will make sure that she loves me. I am amazed how quickly my guilt gives way to excitement and lust for mischief.
I hop out of the shower, begin to get dressed and suddenly I can’t wait for night and am loving my black leather jacket and am feeling more heartthrob than asshole. I take one last look before I leave hoping, that if I memorize it all, I won’t come back, I won’t hurt her, but no objects register, it’s a blur. As I close the door I’m knocked back by an immense wave of regret, self-hatred & a longing for death that weakens my legs and forces me to take the elevator instead of the five flights I usually jump down. By the time the doors open I am alive and part of the city, powerful, miserable, grimy, sophisticated, lonely, and on top of the world.
Finish the story...wanna play?
I watch the sunlight streaming so bright through the windows that the sheets and duvet have the ultra white brilliance of fresh snow at noon. It is a color only a woman can achieve, nothing at my place is ever that white. I look around at the bright picture frames and personal touches that let you know so much about her. She, like so many of the rest of them, are expressive in ways I cannot begin to be in their space. She has arranged everything so that you know the smell of her neck just below her earlobe when you look around, or at least the intimacy of it. It’s intimacy I cannot afford at first glance, she is so much more courageous than I. Blind courage is little more than stupidity though. I try to take everything in, as if it’s the time I’ll see it, and yet I know it’s not. She will leave the door unlocked and I will push my way in again a few more times. What the hell is wrong with me? I have patiently waited long enough, I’m sure she is gone and hasn’t forgotten her keys, or wallet, or any of the other myriad items she can never seem to keep in that duffel bag of a purse. It’s safe for me to shower. She hates when I shower right after, she says it’s like I’m washing her off, trying to cleanse myself of her. No amount of informing her of how often she showers afterward, or how unpleasant walking around sticky-dicked is, has been able to convince her that it’s just a shower, nothing more. So I guess she can see, she just doesn’t want to, I suppose that isn’t blindness so much as stupidity.
I turn the shower on and with the water comes the truth. I shouldn’t have slept with her again. I was ready to end it and she knew it was coming and as wrong as it is, that kept me from it. When she’s sad and expecting it I can’t do it, I need to catch her off guard. This will crush her, I will crush her. Why am I doing this? I feel so sorry, it’s a heavy sorry, too thick for the water to wash away, and yet I guess I’m not sorry enough not to. This isn’t my first time and it won’t be my last. I’m not even done with her yet, it’s beginning in a sense. I will break up with her, she will ask a hundred unanswerable questions and a thousand she already knows the answers to. She’ll fall apart and put herself back together, though not quite right. She’ll throw herself into her work and back into church and build ten foot walls around herself and I will break them down again just a few more times so that I know she isn’t really the one, or that I’m not alone, or that I’ve still got it, or all of them. I’ve heard all the psychology all the doctrine, I know why, insecurity, hatred of women, love of women, lust, my mother, whatever I’ve heard it all before and it still doesn’t stop me, and yet I love her. I love her and not enough to stop me, and I’ll be somewhere between a romantic proposal down on one knee, the kind that moves her friends to tears when they hear it, and smoking slowly watching her heart break til it beats no more, for months maybe a year. I know it’s wrong, I do, but I can’t help it, because this is what love is to me, and God damn me to hell, but if she doesn’t cry like my mother did for my father, or cling to me, the way my mother did because I was all she had left, then I just don’t feel loved. Thankfully, before I can reach the thought of what my mother would say if she really knew, I hear the loud drone of my cell phone vibrating on the porcelain of the sink. It is a stupid place to put your phone and I have learned that the hard way more than once, but someday she might want to see, and my phone details would certainly be an eye-opener. Today is the day for saving something sweet to come back to later, she has to miss me, it isn’t the day for confrontation and reserving a table at her place to eat shit for it later.
The other one is calling, she looks like the girl next door with a real wild streak, which she uses to hide her neediness. It’s so cute how she thinks she can handle me. She’s more turned on by my worst moments, she’s fun and intoxicating and I could never love her, but will make sure that she loves me. I am amazed how quickly my guilt gives way to excitement and lust for mischief.
I hop out of the shower, begin to get dressed and suddenly I can’t wait for night and am loving my black leather jacket and am feeling more heartthrob than asshole. I take one last look before I leave hoping, that if I memorize it all, I won’t come back, I won’t hurt her, but no objects register, it’s a blur. As I close the door I’m knocked back by an immense wave of regret, self-hatred & a longing for death that weakens my legs and forces me to take the elevator instead of the five flights I usually jump down. By the time the doors open I am alive and part of the city, powerful, miserable, grimy, sophisticated, lonely, and on top of the world.
Finish the story...wanna play?
Sunday, March 30, 2008
My Others: Da Runnas
I told her how lonely I've been. How weary I am of being seen as so strong and called growth like it was my name. How much I long for my others, the ones that lust for flight as strong as I do, those that put their fingers into their own gun shot wounds and pull out bullets daily. I lost my ace, well let him go, I run, I push him to run, he likes that, but really wants to walk right now. I didn't want to add to his burdens. She called said she been worried about me, that she felt I was missing something, prayed for it. Her answer was that I need my others, and that the good news was I'd already found them, the bad news was they needed to step up. She said she would get that done for me. I damn near cried. Told another how much that meant, and that i had no idea how lonely I really was til she said she'd run with me, and she said, I will too. She begged me to keep in mind they ain't where I am, to expect much work in training them & not to expect miracles, but I do, all the time, probably how I got two same day. Love flows in and out and you will always have it, long as you don't close your fist or hold on too tightly.
that that don't kill me
I'm falling again
nothin to grab hold of & I'm fallin again
slow motion & I hear nothing but my heart pounding
it feels like time has stopped
Who I am, who I want to be & how did I get here...again are all muddled
the only clear thing is machete like
the concrete rushing up
& whether this time it will be broken bones or spitting teeth & blood
I don't know
& it ain't even fear I'm mostly feeling it's exhaustion
seems like this is where I live
back pressed against hard jagged rock & monstrous cold waves rushing in
limbs so weak
struggle hard for each breath & I can't remember what I keep fighting for
home is too distant & fleeting a memory to focus in on
deep, bone tired, is all I know
voice too hoarse to call for help not enough air anyway
& from far away there is one who recognizes my spirit's dimming
& hears the cry I couldn't muster
one who resuccitates, breathes for me
inhale if ever there was one deserving of life not mere survival in struggle it's you
exhale this too shall pass
inhale you will get what you put out returned to you in full measure your sum is much greater than your mistakes it is pure love & truth
exhale we've gotta go through the dark to see the light, remember joy comes in the morning
inhale you shine bright as the messenger star & just as hard to follow, but there are wise ones now already following the signs that point to you, so don't fade before they reach you
exhale the beauty of birth is the extent of the pain you suffer for life to issue from you, heed your own truths & push now
inhale space ain't what you need, you need to know that you are precious, beautiful, & well loved & even if it is only half as much as your love, great as night sky, it is still as much as the stars within it; infinite
exhale that that don't kill you can only make your stronger & you've been here so many times before, not in vain but to strengthen you for the weight of your destiny, you may go through more than others, return here, more than others, but you will reach heights they dare not dream of
time presses on my body slams hard into the ground & before the clear cost is totaled in broken bones & blood loss
conciousness is regained & the expansive air of thruth felt
I am here alive, as whole as I choose to be
& breathing... harder than I struggled
nothin to grab hold of & I'm fallin again
slow motion & I hear nothing but my heart pounding
it feels like time has stopped
Who I am, who I want to be & how did I get here...again are all muddled
the only clear thing is machete like
the concrete rushing up
& whether this time it will be broken bones or spitting teeth & blood
I don't know
& it ain't even fear I'm mostly feeling it's exhaustion
seems like this is where I live
back pressed against hard jagged rock & monstrous cold waves rushing in
limbs so weak
struggle hard for each breath & I can't remember what I keep fighting for
home is too distant & fleeting a memory to focus in on
deep, bone tired, is all I know
voice too hoarse to call for help not enough air anyway
& from far away there is one who recognizes my spirit's dimming
& hears the cry I couldn't muster
one who resuccitates, breathes for me
inhale if ever there was one deserving of life not mere survival in struggle it's you
exhale this too shall pass
inhale you will get what you put out returned to you in full measure your sum is much greater than your mistakes it is pure love & truth
exhale we've gotta go through the dark to see the light, remember joy comes in the morning
inhale you shine bright as the messenger star & just as hard to follow, but there are wise ones now already following the signs that point to you, so don't fade before they reach you
exhale the beauty of birth is the extent of the pain you suffer for life to issue from you, heed your own truths & push now
inhale space ain't what you need, you need to know that you are precious, beautiful, & well loved & even if it is only half as much as your love, great as night sky, it is still as much as the stars within it; infinite
exhale that that don't kill you can only make your stronger & you've been here so many times before, not in vain but to strengthen you for the weight of your destiny, you may go through more than others, return here, more than others, but you will reach heights they dare not dream of
time presses on my body slams hard into the ground & before the clear cost is totaled in broken bones & blood loss
conciousness is regained & the expansive air of thruth felt
I am here alive, as whole as I choose to be
& breathing... harder than I struggled
Ooooom
Saturn Rising...maybe,
worst couple days in a minute...fa sho.
And fo real I can’t even tell you why I didn’t cry, didn’t tell nobody I felt more locked down when I got out.
Just cause you ain't in prison, don't mean you free
See the moon she was bright & her silence deafening
and sometimes too well I know you got to lean to your own understanding, my pride been with me ever,
so much so that sometime it gotta be pried from me
but I needed to know my worth, the value in these hands & that gotta be balanced by a perspective outside me.
Struggled with a love, hard to watch one heap shame and pain so high on oneself, guess I knew it was there before.
27 seem like lifetimes, like I been here too long.
I longed so hard for warmth and the ocean,
a whisper in my ear, a song sung in earnest an offering for my smile, strong arms around me, a hilltop & a clear view, I shook.
and cous came through "too decent" smelled warm with liquor & hugged tight and wouldn’t let go til I laughed. She showed such concern I was surprised, the other worked through some stuff when I was ready, I saw a good friend I so missed, and I belly laughed an afternoon away.
The weight is gone feelin good
and fo real I am lonely
and I know what is
and I won’t try to make work what don’t
I can see gray a bit, don’t all have to be so black or white
got some time, no rush
dunno if/when I’ll get it
but I know what I want
I am in my grandmother’s arms, skinned knee
there is happiness, there is peace, there’s pain
and...it....is...sweet
worst couple days in a minute...fa sho.
And fo real I can’t even tell you why I didn’t cry, didn’t tell nobody I felt more locked down when I got out.
Just cause you ain't in prison, don't mean you free
See the moon she was bright & her silence deafening
and sometimes too well I know you got to lean to your own understanding, my pride been with me ever,
so much so that sometime it gotta be pried from me
but I needed to know my worth, the value in these hands & that gotta be balanced by a perspective outside me.
Struggled with a love, hard to watch one heap shame and pain so high on oneself, guess I knew it was there before.
27 seem like lifetimes, like I been here too long.
I longed so hard for warmth and the ocean,
a whisper in my ear, a song sung in earnest an offering for my smile, strong arms around me, a hilltop & a clear view, I shook.
and cous came through "too decent" smelled warm with liquor & hugged tight and wouldn’t let go til I laughed. She showed such concern I was surprised, the other worked through some stuff when I was ready, I saw a good friend I so missed, and I belly laughed an afternoon away.
The weight is gone feelin good
and fo real I am lonely
and I know what is
and I won’t try to make work what don’t
I can see gray a bit, don’t all have to be so black or white
got some time, no rush
dunno if/when I’ll get it
but I know what I want
I am in my grandmother’s arms, skinned knee
there is happiness, there is peace, there’s pain
and...it....is...sweet
Sing to me baby
sing me a song, a poem, tell me a story that reminds me of us
or pop some dumb shit that'll make me laugh
anything to get me from this fork in the road
where I'm choosin between this art in my belly clawin to get out
or threatin death inside me
where the work from these hands the piece, the drawing, the film , the photos
that'll save me
or painting my colors on my hood
showing hues of accountable polticians
that spark the vision that this here shit wadn't made for us
and we gotta be about real fucking change and revolution not just rhetoric
til my sons can see past, past red white & blue electric & exciting
past be all you can be
to the red white & blue of Ayiti & what it could be
where their great grandfathers soul paused before heading to Nan Ginan
though the cold ground of Chicago grips hard his bones
to the sun & the hills & red flatlands of the diaspora
& what we could be
so I can see past the bills & bags & shoes I can't afford
to catch the eyes above strong chest & arms that could hold me
or hold my hand at this fork right now
play with me cause I didn't get to be a child long enough
& jumpin down the last set of stairs is the closest I can get
to the flight home I long for
play with me til I up my videogame game
so I can still beat the kids & give em sumthin to shoot for
cause beatin level five offers more esteem than dismissive teachers do
& mastering history & language not ours, & mathematics not supreme do
til then I'll push books on em
so they learn not only the secrets that lie within
but the art of being solitary & learning togetherness
when your daddy's pursuing courses so hard
that your tears don't breed hesitation in his step
& your mother barely exists between hi & bye
wrapped up in workplans, meetings & strategies
putting food in your tummies, keepin on a cel phone & house phone
so you can call if you need her, while you work hard at never imposing
Sing me a song, a poem, a story
that reminds me who I am, outside of the dance floor
& the occasional moments I acknowledge that I have inspired
maybe if you get tears in your eyes when you find out
I have no idea who I am other than a woman without a country
static filled speaker, too shy or filled with doubt to step to tha mic, organizer without a team, owner of tired hands & achy muscles with little to show for it
will be enough to teach me to cry for myself
til then I'll hug them hard long after they've fallen asleep
hope their dreams register my presence
their covers retain my scent
imagine your scent in my covers
pray for you & us all
struggle to muster the hope & the courage required to faithfully pray for myself
still my thumping heart & vibrations so I can feel your energy
watch the moon for glimpses of your face
& listen hard in the wind for your story, your song, your poem
hold my trembling & outstretched hand to you
& be it left or right
make my feet beat out my rhythm on this road
a rhythm I pray you can vibe to, with your story, your poem, your song
or pop some dumb shit that'll make me laugh
anything to get me from this fork in the road
where I'm choosin between this art in my belly clawin to get out
or threatin death inside me
where the work from these hands the piece, the drawing, the film , the photos
that'll save me
or painting my colors on my hood
showing hues of accountable polticians
that spark the vision that this here shit wadn't made for us
and we gotta be about real fucking change and revolution not just rhetoric
til my sons can see past, past red white & blue electric & exciting
past be all you can be
to the red white & blue of Ayiti & what it could be
where their great grandfathers soul paused before heading to Nan Ginan
though the cold ground of Chicago grips hard his bones
to the sun & the hills & red flatlands of the diaspora
& what we could be
so I can see past the bills & bags & shoes I can't afford
to catch the eyes above strong chest & arms that could hold me
or hold my hand at this fork right now
play with me cause I didn't get to be a child long enough
& jumpin down the last set of stairs is the closest I can get
to the flight home I long for
play with me til I up my videogame game
so I can still beat the kids & give em sumthin to shoot for
cause beatin level five offers more esteem than dismissive teachers do
& mastering history & language not ours, & mathematics not supreme do
til then I'll push books on em
so they learn not only the secrets that lie within
but the art of being solitary & learning togetherness
when your daddy's pursuing courses so hard
that your tears don't breed hesitation in his step
& your mother barely exists between hi & bye
wrapped up in workplans, meetings & strategies
putting food in your tummies, keepin on a cel phone & house phone
so you can call if you need her, while you work hard at never imposing
Sing me a song, a poem, a story
that reminds me who I am, outside of the dance floor
& the occasional moments I acknowledge that I have inspired
maybe if you get tears in your eyes when you find out
I have no idea who I am other than a woman without a country
static filled speaker, too shy or filled with doubt to step to tha mic, organizer without a team, owner of tired hands & achy muscles with little to show for it
will be enough to teach me to cry for myself
til then I'll hug them hard long after they've fallen asleep
hope their dreams register my presence
their covers retain my scent
imagine your scent in my covers
pray for you & us all
struggle to muster the hope & the courage required to faithfully pray for myself
still my thumping heart & vibrations so I can feel your energy
watch the moon for glimpses of your face
& listen hard in the wind for your story, your song, your poem
hold my trembling & outstretched hand to you
& be it left or right
make my feet beat out my rhythm on this road
a rhythm I pray you can vibe to, with your story, your poem, your song
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