Stuff I Write About

Pieces of a dream fall out like lint and loose change from pockets with dark holes Dark holes which is where I been lately at least it feel that way to me for what seems like an eternity I am trying to shake loose all those things which threaten to bind me my destiny abounds in me I fight on when there is no more room to run

There are evening poems like Langston and Petrarch and Morning poems like Nikki Giovanni and Song of Songs Poems for every occasion For whatever ails you Take two and call me in the morning

And so it comes To this The sun beating Down The people indifferently passing And we ... out Of breath In a pool of salty Sweat Laughing Happy In each other’s Trust That once again We gentled the stone All the way down And will now Push it back up But we will wait Until the sun sets We will wait Until the stores Close We will wait While they put their garbage bags In the streets We will wait Until the dogs and rats Sniff their choices We will wait Until the street cleaners Push their brooms And the women offer their wares We will hope The men are kind We are Sisyphus We write the poems We paint the portraits We sculpt the statues We quilt the blankets We set the tables We make the beds We wipe the tears We rock the anger We hold on to tomorrow We push the rock up And we gently bring it down We were promised Only a gift of light You keep me From being Lonely

What is it about this time of tumult and great beauty? Time for shedding in preparation for renewal I love Langston I read his poems every night before bed Poems won’t come to me They often find me too tired to capture thought I ought to get my black butt up But I been tired Tired like all day in the cornfields tired Who am I kidding? I ain’t neva been in no cornfields But I do know that I am tired Tired like Black woman tired of all your lame ass excuses tired Yes, tired like that

Paradise is WPFW; Dinah Shore and Billie Holiday Paradise is pumpkin spiced candles; Roobios red chai tea with carnation milk and pure cane sugar Paradise is the rings of smoke from incense curling over your shoulder Tapping gently just to say, “Hey, remember me – relax, breathe...deep” Paradise is writing in warm clothes on a cold night Paradise is everything in my soul is alright Don’t know tomorrow Can’t recapture the day But confident The Lord will make a way A clap A shout “Amen!” And a “That’s alright” Paradise is the tone from piano keys Touching my tear ducks Paradise is smiling after a day of hell Behold, the kingdom of God is at hand.

Tender young flowering blossoms With shoots of remarkable beauty Race to the top Only to be cut down by yardsmen Eager for wilt of tender bodies Hands of musty soil grip hard Leave with dead flowers in tow One has learned to live And so has the other But none has learned to live one for the other One has learned to love And so has the other But none has learned to love one for the other

And who is it And who is it not Black apricot Streaming through black tresses In dresses In heals In linens Where are they They are in me They are me