August 10, 2011

when you go through 103 pages and end up satisfied with one paragraph.


Her name is not Julie.

Which in most cases is no great crime; names like Elizabeth, Raelynne, or Marlene are just as acceptable and effeminate without being Julie and no one bats an eye about it. Still, there’s a mesmeric quality about Julie, light and sing-songing, pretty…and the polar opposite to something like Corynne, especially when spelled incorrectly. The latter is earthy, muddy even, and well-rooted—or seemed so—does not readily draw attention but thrives when—most often by accident—it is bestowed. Medium in both hue and height, and well-shaped despite being unwilling to recognize those more aesthetically pleasing features that others like to point out, Corynne does not think of itself as belonging to a black woman, and this is a shared mindset between the two of them.

potluck can-can


Land of the—free at last
Lost home of the braves
                Roam no buffalo over shallow plains graves
I too?
More buzz than song—hum wild
And fresh off banana boat styles

Mangled star bannered on raised fist
Blazed on the back of afro picks
Manmade enclave for the guinea-mick

Oh beautiful.
And skies spacious overcast
Bootstrap foundation, built to last

Who says past?

Share croppers
Fence hoppers
Choo-choo chinaman
And the rainbow parade, down
                —Pride

(Or prejudice) A violet hour

Words like:
We
Are
Social
Power

mother


You are bombed brick immoveable
Full of whetstone promise
Having none of it
Strong, sturdy, stable
Pillar called truth, true enabler
Poised out of habit.
Mud hut cubed, packed pound
For pound against high water, hurricane,

(And the occasional hyena)

Knows no—all—strain, but three sisters
                And a glass ceiling,
How you stood between the world and I.

Born for bearing and daughter follows, but
You are bombed brick immoveable
                —Etched  wall standing
And I am only sand.

choke


Anxiety is—Tequila in the hall
Unsharpened axe grinding
                (teeth too)
Just after three am in the middle
Of Cleveland, Detroit if you’re lucky.
A present from the throat,
Stick-shift down to the stomach
—Crowbar in hand where
Green is the event horizon.

mistake on the lake


You’re a tower of indifference.
Muck foundation, made to stand on
 blue-collar hymns
Steel in the eye, voice, and toe.
We’re in the Land; Indian country,
No-man’s dog pound and long-cooled seats.
Collinwood mafia, Glenville beats.
Where you from?
O-H
Eastside suburbs, Erie coast,
The “Comeback City” (metro misfire)
Rust Belt baby,
 Cuyahoga pyre.
You’re one blue drop in a swing sea of red,
Two-one-six town, two-step after Broadway
                And fine of heart for patronage.
Poised on urban Renaissance.
Where you from?
                I-O
Rock on rock city, rock on.

tableau


Mix and match mud woman
                God-given brow
Hill high cheekbones
And mild-mountain nose
 Sloped bird-wide
(African pride)
Over sucker-fish lips
Fine land lineless face
Brown eyes looked black
Swoop almond, cornered up
They called them chink-chak
Topped off under matching naps

sXmmetrX


I have no bosom, only breasts.
A matched pair of fraternal twins taking
residence above my ribcage sans remedy
for improper proportion. Fighting fire with
readjusted bra straps I am firmly against
inserted padding;

firmly against added extra or redistribution, the
alternative scalpel. These, my mild landmarks,
pair themselves like two left feet. Least loved
heirlooms should all other pearls fail.

android


4:56 traffic breathes no unconditional
retrospect. Like ant hills of stigmatic prose.
The anti-poetic defined and derailed—tragic
or trite; consequences of breakneck speeding
to a crawl. Gassed march of reason at seventy-
five miles per hour and fine lines of man made
sense to be constructed--atomic paint brush. 
All without a single comma.

the curtain, an elegy

Night is when we find our refuge
Four eyes, two mouths; no more.
I’ll hear later, tongues flapping
against their teeth, but I am unwilling
now. So porous is my place beside you.


No peaceful passing of well wishes,
this parting, a waiting for some
revelation, or realization that I’m
whole. We are four minutes after
snooze, a last thought before sleep.

And, then you said I love you.
And then? You said, I love you.