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.

Must Do Better!!

The last year and a half were rough. I hit a really low point and the people I thought I could depend on taught me some hard lessons on top of the low. I have my steady handful and plan to keep them, they also, ironically, knew me before all this. It's the afters. I had to come to terms with a lot of things that shook me and made me want to re-evaluate how I relate to people. My loyalties were tested and found to be one-sided as I realized that there were people in my life that I considered priceless while they considered me optional or after thought. It messed me up more than I thought. Like abandonment issues weren't enough here's a nice big ass dose of trust issues, oh and here are some more ghosts to go with the others. So I took to the road as much as I could. Never in town long enough to be lied to, taken for granted or worse, a joke.

So I don't trust my judgement these days or maybe it's my heart I don't trust. As a result I am watching my life go by from the relative safety of the edge not even daring to jump in to the pool. I met someone a several months ago and after a few dates I caught myself running through the various scenarios, the hierarchy of friendship,  the lying about unnecessary shyt, the making up unnecessary excuses, the promises made just to be broken and what I might do to the next person who hurts my kid. That date ended badly. Not rudely, I'm rarely rude, just me disconnecting from the grid and making sure "Welcome" is not tattooed on my forehead.

I have recently been tempted and am standing in the shallow end of the pool. Just ankle action. I want to believe she won't hurt me, but I can't trust it completely. Not yet. She will have to come to me, that makes me nervous because, well, what if she doesn't?

I remember saying, years ago in response to someone who asked when I would settle down again, maybe in my 50's! Well, 50 is approaching and maybe uttering the words so long ago, manifested them at the time I defined when I put into the world. Or not. Until then I am on the move, busy getting my ankles wet from time to time.

I started this blog as a recovery journal when I had my partial hysterectomy in 2005 (I was having many moments back then). Since then it has been a repository for rants, heart to hearts, poems and can you believe this shyt stories. I stay busy to keep the loneliness at bay and I have very few folk to use as soundboards that haven't rendered me out of sight out of mind. So, I think I will use this space more in the future to recover and get through some of the lonely along with the occasional rant, heart to heart, poems and can you believe this shyt stories.
You know, like usual.

I am going to start a new blog for National Poetry Month. I'll try to remember how to link it to this one, or watch a You Tube video to figure it out.

This weekend all my kids will be home so I'm gonna love on them extra to stock pile the hugs, Zion's gonna hate that, but deal he will. My actor has auditions and this mommy knows, my baby is going to kick much artistic ass. She is just like her mother in that department.

SS

Don't forget to vote tomorrow!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=agKYmrekX_k

Get out there and vote tomorrow good people.

If you choose not to vote I choose not to listen to you complain about the outcome.

Happy Monday!

After Career Day

Odd Jobs

The absence of young men was palpable. 

I found myself torn between insult and interest

considered if I lived in a world where the arts was women's work.

Wondered if I'd slid off the world.

I learned later that eighth grade boys 

were guided into the careers they are already living

those missiles in a world that might ignite 

or disarm them.

As I move through to seventh grade the testosterone 

roamed the halls, rushed for seats to sit next to pretty girls.

Rambunctious bodies too fast for their feet.

Seems they have a year before they would be told 

about the job that picked them simply because they breathe.

I asked my eighth grader about the speakers chosen for him. 

The scientist, the psychologist, the police.

I wondered if they were asked the same questions.

I asked my son if they were asked the same questions.

The scientist was asked the same questions.

Not the psychologist. Not the police.

They instead gave advice on how not to look 

suspicious while being young, black and male.

When stopped by the police you don't ...

Never IF you are stopped.

Young black men have a tendency ...

Not SOME black men.

Avert your eyes when ...

Don't want to be seen as threatening.

Keep your hands visible...

Don't get hungry or thirsty or listen

to your favorite songs too loud.

He never got to ask the questions about the things he loves the most. 

Doesn't know more about the classes to take to be a programmer. 

How many different fields there are and the possibilities 

out there waiting for him so he can live his dream.

He believes it was helpful.

Believes if he is ever stopped by the police

(thank God he didn't say when)

he will not be shot.

Believes the tips from the psychologist 

will help him appear less threatening.

I believe that this world is afraid of his potential

wants him thinking how not to appear criminal

when statistics show pigment will do that for him.

My silence scares him.

Are you mad?

A question I can answer.

I am not mad, I am concerned.

Don't worry mom, he tells me through the phone.

I have an hour before bed he tells me

I'm going to do some more research on programmers 

and if I have time I'm going to write this new idea 

for my book. I think it's almost done.

I breathe a little easier. 

Make sure my feet are no longer floating.

My son is very aware that he is young, black and male.

He knows the world knows it too.

He also knows that living is a job but waiting to be profiled

is not his career.

He's got games to make 

and books to write.

21/30 The Accident (part 5)

the birds keep on singing

the vacant smile I wear

to hide what is hidden falters

no one notices 

not even me

if I come back from where I’ve gone

will it be noticed

will I notice the return 

of my parts 

things never happen in a straight line

some happen dark as dried blood

you can never deny

what has never been said

20/30 The Accident (part 4)

after the talk

after the voices screaming in my head

reduce to whispers

I sip sweet tea soaked in whiskey

looking over my shoulder

in hopes to glimpse the others who left

I should be surprised

but nothing surprises

not any more

19/30 The Accident (part 3)

early in the morning

when it is still dark

sweat pools

could be tears

in the dark no one notices

not even me

when the sun greets

there is no evidence

what might have changed things

a stronger truth

a little more faith

when my train went off the tracks

the wreckage of me broadcast

on static channels

no reception between the scrawl 

18/30 The Accident (part 2)

spiked tongues talk

then vanish without a trace

I could use the company

can’t remember how to ask

could be the weak in me

without anchors insecurity rises

the taste of anxiety burns my throat

17/30 The Accident (part 1)

in the process I learned

a lot of things

some hard on the muscles

some camoflauged, remote

none the worse for it

sitting in the dark

wondering if this body could

carry me across the room

without my anchors 

I float away

no one notices

not even me

16/30 In the Kitchen

it started as a giggle 

turned into gale force hilarity 

tears streaming from squinted eyes 

hands on hip and belly 

barely catching a breath 

which is only more funny 

the neighbors are offended 

how dare you be happy 

in this April snow storm 

this life of rug pulled from beneath feet 

arms pinwheeling themselves 

an effort to stay upright 

how dare you find joy 

when fucked up is happening all around you 

did you see the news 

don't you understand the seriousness 

don't you get how 

this is nothing to be laughed at 

who can fight back with weaken willow legs 

softened by frivolity 

if you are talking to the living

in real time face to face

how you gonna like there statuses

do you hear anyone else having fun

if I ever lost my ability to find joy 

in the mist of fuckery 

I'd be unhappy 

always 

and the body count would be high so 

let me enjoy my laughter 

my habit of being in the company of pulses

you enjoy you complaints and pessimism 

I'd rather weep with joy in a room full of friends

than wallow in whatever you are wallowing in 

I'm ok not being welcomed to your pity party

but you are always welcomed to laugh with the living

find happy in the beat of hearts

and belly laughs so real

they sound like love

15/30 False Hoods

she never says what she means 

always eager to please 

even when she doesn't want to 

even though she knows

the person being pleased 

does not care 

and neither does she 

but she takes the rejection in

calls it something else 

calls it challenge

regrets the attempt 

even as she attempts again 

she sees the broken logic 

as a way to be engaged 

in any 

all 

conversations 

wants to be a treaty line 

wants everyone to pretend 

they want to be here 

like she is pretending 

she wants to be here 

fireworks of mad shoot off in her brain 

her heart has lost its keys 

no music lives in her body 

as she veneers herself stuck 

rooted to a spot 

she never wanted to be in 

she never means what she says 

knows that if she unleashes 

the flame of her tongue 

she may burn the bridges 

that lead her to what she believes 

could be home 

14 And the Cranberries Lead the Way

what you refuse to understand 

is my desires have nothing to do with you 

but I have entertained this train wreck interaction 

believing the conversation would be 

well, not this 

not this simple 

not this you trying to degrade me 

make me feel less than

but what you don't seem to get 

is that in order for your words to sting 

for your teeth to make purchase 

you have to bite harder and mean it  

plunging you blade of stupid in my back 

only works if you are sharp 

which you are not 

but you think you are 

which is sad 

but there you are standing there 

wrapped in cluelessness 

trying to school me on shit you don't know 

your thrift store psychology fails you 

and as you lose confidence in your own brand 

of bat shyt crazy 

you decide to go to the bottom of your dumb bucket 

attempt to crab barrel drag me to your level 

And your only come back is 

"only lazy women become lesbians 

it takes work to find a man"

my first thought was 

what the fuck is wrong with this person 

my next fuck this person 

when I stare this time I am imaging 

the exhausted hamster wheeling in your brain 

you know what you've said makes no sense

but you hold on to it like an ugly baby 

trying to protect it from those who might call it what it is

I tell you more than I should 

two marriages three kids a leap from the closet 

later and I am oddly pleased and not surprised 

to learn that I am no longer as lazy, 

like that, 

but the men I found were not good men 

grinning in the direction of the man who talks down to you, 

cheats on you and whose wardrobe is the definition of misogyny 

the same man who hit on me 

then showed his entire ass 

when I suggested he introduce me to his sister 

she'd have a better chance

When I grow bored of the no longer 

even slightly entertaining conversation about nothing 

I tell you I'm done going to take my lazy ass 

to the dyke bar 

a little karaoke and beer 

you gush tell me how you've always wanted 

to go to a gay bar grinning at me like I just issued an invitation

so you want to be lazy with me?

I lie 

tell her it's like a club  

there are secret handshakes and shit 

and I decide to not have conversations 

about sexuality with people who don't 

even know what that is 

later

a cold beer in my hand

I sing my favorite Cranberries song 

thinking how I spent most of my evening 

then it hits me

the zombie apocalypse isn't the eating of brains

it's the people who don't use theirs 

and the Cranberries had been saying this for years

it is in your head

in your head

zombie, zombie, zombie, ie, ie

well played Cranberries

well played

*insert guitar solo*

 

13/30 Shit I Been Through, In No Particular Order #1

straight A truancy 

French honor

graduation early 

gives thanks for not having

to return after thanksgiving 

first job hunt

in mainstream America 

fills out application

naive newcomer changing the world

my observation skills  

always aware of surroundings

arc du triomphe, le tour Eiffel 

tri-color everywhere

honor student
conducts interview in French

new comer excited
cosmopolitan meets urban

newcomer unfamiliar with racism here

hired

working
Neiman Marcus secret

underground plantation style

17 years old 14 dollars an hour

only black faces busing tables 

or slinging sweet tea cocktails

newcomer mistake

mistook the south for southern France

cosmopolitan forces urban

employs me 

black face hostess

southern bells offended

refuse menus 

just place them on the table

refuses pens to sign their checks

just place it on the table

refusing to place money in my hands

they just place it on the table

staff pissed and enjoying masters return

black bartender watching seeing my future

training two weeks 

halts two days in 

you closing tonight 

you never showed me closing

question

no instructions given 

no keys to lock doors

bartender steps in shows me how

locks cash in safe

locks doors checks twice

next morning unscheduled 

still there before the sun

waits for explanation

accused of theft

calls for supervisor

safe open cash in hand

hands over
explanations
fire at will

I will fire back

transferred new department

shipping and receiving 

refusing pay reduction

8 dollar difference

you looking at my paycheck?

causes a problem

calls supervisor

transferred again

tis the season wrapping gaudy

overpriced ugly

they commission

me refusing pay reduction

tips for ostentatious meets tacky

up to two hundred every shift

you looking at my paycheck?

causes a problem

calls supervisor

cosmopolitan stretched 

thinner than our first meeting

17
bank account healthy

refuses transfer

takes money and runs

first job
successful

ready for more

12/30 Cleave

12/30 Cleave
Cleave means “to join” and “to separate or divide”

We began twins connected
Driveway saints and sinners
Waiting for fault lines

I long for the hold
The meeting of minds and hearts
Begin again, new

11/30 Crop

Crop means "to plant or grow" and "to cut or harvest"

11/30 Crop

She spoke of organs
Of separating him from his essence
Harvest


I remember joy
Bountiful behind his eyes
Now covered with tape

10/30 Grave

I wrote a few of these when I was in the dark and lonely that was February and March. I am fascinated with words that mean their opposites and are synonyms of their meaning. That last kind I only think makes sense to me. They are a little morose, even for me, but I can't deny my darkness. It happens. Hell, it may happen again in an hour, day, week, or month from now and don't let me get started on the seconds.

10/ 30 Grave
Taking someone off 
life support prepares you well
For losing others