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