August 2

I don't know if it was the insult or injury
or both
I only know that they happened
twice
I only know that I wasn't there
twice

probably a good thing
or not

maybe I would have done headlines
maybe I would have done worst'
maybe it wouldn't have happened in the first place
or second
maybe
I could have saved you from yourself
or at the very least from me
time will never know

August

this could be a tale

or a story wrapped in a tale

or a testimony speaking

of what is happening right now

in front of all of our faces

or maybe it is a tale

made story

made testimony

turned eulogy

because the teller is no longer  

here

even though she wears that body  

a mask

a premonition of what is to come

maybe what has happened

would have happened anyway

there was no other outcome

no other foothold safe haven

maybe broken is a noun

that wears her name

maybe she never knew

what her name meant

if she did

maybe that

could have made the difference

and maybe she didn’t care

never could

biology or circumstance

maybe there are too many factors

to factor

and maybe the sound of family

on her tongue hurt too much

to taste

and in her regret

the only thing she felt

was fist and slander

and not you,

not anymore

the tale told wrong

the story without

a believable happy ending

the testimony told through

clenched teeth

the obituary written

before the death

before the killing

before you knew

what it meant

all of it

before you realized
that you couldn’t hold the love

so you had to rid yourself of it

of us

completely

bury it all

call it a goodbye

call it a crucifixion

The History of Storms

there are thing that cannot be known

by those who do not a know

air

so gentle 

seizing of all that was once innocent 

once sweet turned sour in the unknowing 

that can never be known
unless we were there
we were not

there is a softness 

a sickness there 

one turned malignant

diseased

one longing for cure 

but not knowing how to ask

there is always a way to ask
unless
there isn't

there is a table there

one flipped time and time again 

in a breeze 

disguised as soothing 

as knowing 

as invisible as the wind

that 

ruffled your hair
that time

the thing about air

about wind 

about breezes

is that every one needs it

even as it cannot be seen by eyes 

focused forward 

in a war no one enlisted for 

drafted 

none the less 

no one can win 

because that is not the goal 

burn it all down 

in the ruin of it all 

the temperature risen so high 

it calls for emergency rooms 

for evacuation

for oceans 

moving in the wrong direction 
shots fired
there are always shots fired

condensation has no choice 

it lands on our faces 

a failed attempt to wash 

something so dirty 

clean 
impossible

there is no right answer 

there is no next time or tomorrow 

there is only rain and questions 

only windows 

forced open 

and and paperwork 

only debris and broken boys 

only answers not asked for 

only band aids where surgery was required

only questions we will never know the answers to

truth no longer resides in your tongue

your heart turned detritus 

turned vengeful 

cloaked in revisionist history

there are things that cannot be known 

answers that were never questioned 

a fish that took on to much air 

found it was unable to float 

decided fuck it 

if I drown in my home

we all drown in my home

despite the wet
it will all burn

the flames will burn it all

there is always

air to feed the flames

always

A Conversation That Should Not Exisit

My son initiated no radio for the drive home just talk. We talk. About girls and confusing signals, I can relate, tell him this and the conversation deepens. We talk about plagiarizing and black lives mattering and about how I've taught compliance but that doesn't work anymore so what now.
My chest aches.

He pretends places his hands at ten and two on an imaginary steering wheel says, "OK. I'm being pulled over."

Me- Can you be not pulled over?

Z- Well yes Mom, but I'm being profiled

I don't burst into tears. I want to but I'm driving and he is really trying to figure this out. Only a parent who has had to suffer this type of conversation knows the twist and clinch of spine and heart.

Me- I guess you keep your hands on the wheel.

Z- Where's my id? I figure I'll take it out of my wallet and leave it on the seat or at least in plain sight, that way they can reach it themselves.

I live in a world where my sweet, funny boy is planning survival for a traffic stop.
This shyt is not normal.

Z- So, if they ask to search my car do I just let them because I have nothing to hide, or ask why I've been stopped and tell them I'll sign the ticket.

This comment phucks me up extra because he is thinking rationally and so much rational is not happening now. Would they even get to the part where he gets to speak?

I remember that me at 15, pretended being a teacher, a fashion designer, a reporter and so many other things. I never practiced staying alive while wearing dark skin in America.

I've been sitting on the porch for hours unpacking this conversation and crying. Last night, I dreamed of losing teeth and fish and walls to tall to climb. I know what those mean and, well, ominous. My son is afraid and oddly calm about it. I am not OK with this. 

Thanks a bunch American Dream Deferred! It's not like black mothers don't have quite enough juggling of lessons to teach that should not be apart of the fucking curriculum. 

Sigh.

I'm going to get it together.
I need hugs.
I need poems.

Slumlord Cheap as Hell

I guess one should really never ask how much worse can it get? Because it can get a hell of a lot worse.

Where to start.

Well, about 3 years ago I moved in my my bestie KG. I need to move fast and when her then roommate, a mutual friend, moved away to be with her lady love I no longer had to think of living in my car. I signed a lease with the landlord and it was a done deal. I was moving around a lot so KG took care of most of the house stuff because I was on the road. Also because dude would say the most borderline sexist bullshyt to me, licking his lips and wearing his Kangol hat and gold chains. Creepy. He once said to my son, "You not as pretty as your Momma." My son's response, "Mom, that old man just tried my whole life."

When I started traveling less, I would contact the guy about things that need to be done. The first major thing was the mysterious case of the wobbling toilet.

I called, stated the problem and over the phone he diagnosed that the toilet was not in fact broken. I tell him that the ring that holds the toilet in place appears to be warped and the toilet runs and the handle part needs to be replaced. He said, still on the phone, that it was not warped, that's not how it works and there was nothing wrong with the handle I just need to jiggle it. I jiggled it for a month, meanwhile our water bill triples. I call again ask him to send a plumber over and he decided he will come over to look at it. He decides that I must have done something for it to wobble and does a duct tape type job on the handle. Our water bill climbs even higher. Then the sink faucet has a problem, and my roommate calls and in a day or two the plumber comes to fix the faucet, I ask him if he would look at the toilet. He says the ring is warped and the toilet is ancient and should be replaced. I ask if he will tell the guy. He calls and the guy says he can replace the handle.

A month later the handle is not working and the wobbling is worse and there is a problem with my roommates bathroom as well. She calls him and then calls a plumber. The guy shows up and again replacement is suggested and he says he'll get his guy to do it. Weeks later the guy and his plumber replace the toilet. "Y'all better take care of this, I'm not replacing it again."

Wait. What?
Fucker this is your house. You are keeping your house up! You are not doing this shyt for me. Pun intended.

Oh, and yes it gets worse.