Heart of a Woman (For Maya Angelou)

On Friday
for only $1
she called to me through her book
sitting on the shelf  alive waiting to be heard
what a price for such wisdom
On Monday
I heard her message
through the pages of her story
amazed and intrigued
leaving the book resting on a red pillow
not knowing that on Wednesday
she would be gone
and although we never met
I’m glad she spoke to me all the way to page 106
and I listened

For Robert

 

I felt the vibrations of your ink

your pen shook earth

shaking volumes of words

from off the shelf

I saw the pages falling

with letters scattering randomly like dandelion seeds

tapping the fertile soil

of my creative womb

and re-birthing poetically

into new cipher

moving gracefully

to an uncertain end

the muses from Langston’s porch

were pleased

they enjoyed the vibe

the pickled okra

and impromptu walks

the sweltering ride on the A train from

Lennox and 125th

to Nostrand avenue

the surprise mango tea

and baby red velvet

Brooklyn’s finest keeping vigilant watch

on surreptitious corner activities

where everybody is somebody

even the nobodies

even me

walking

looking

searching

finally finding peace

when we sat on Langston’s stoop

and played

like children

running after verbs and adjectives

down the sidewalk

duck duck goose

you’re it

no more chalk lines

only pens to paper

writing our letters carefully

and sending  prayers up

to the universe

we climbed up Langston’s steps

playing hopscotch

with words that dreamed

of what tomorrow would bring

hoping for better

leaning on the patina rails

looking up into the heavens

as the grime from the sidewalk

settled on our shoelaces

and we remembered that day

on sacred ground.

I Could…

I could bloom here

in this concrete soil

with its steel skyline

and endless waves of people walking the pavement

or going underground to get from point A to B to C

sometimes stepping on one another

making no eye contact

but connected at the root

I could get used to climbing several flights of old stairs

crossing the street to do laundry

alongside big butt women

with graying locs

people cussing each other out

in front of China King

and Ma’s old stoop

watching the cat who sleeps curled up in the barber shop window

in the afternoon sun

I could bloom here

in the cold

like a winter rose without thorns

trusting the universe to protect me

from danger

in this concrete soil

rising…

Strange Fruit...

strange fruit

is rottening in the trees

and it’s starting to smell

the stench is killing

 we

can’t breathe

our children are being suffocated on the streets

by passers by

who hunt them down like wild animals

against official orders

not to follow

lawlessness is stifling the cries

of mothers

fathers

and the unborn

with no names

sleeping in unmarked graves

wrapped in tiny hoodies

skittle covered caskets

and hip-hop elegies

prisons built for the illiterate to live in

for those who reach eighteen

if they don’t become the new crop

of strange fruit

rottening

in the trees

their stench filling the air

and

i

can’t

breathe

Wisdom From an Old Woman in a Window

 

scattered hopes

and shattered dreams

her life passing before her

in milliseconds

remembering time wasted

on worthlessness

too many tasks left undone

and hopeless regrets

if she could do it all again

it would be different

no one would distract or discourage her

or take her off the path

she would stand up

and speak up

even if they didn’t respect or support

or validate her purpose

exchanging her life for theirs

and watching them all prosper and proliferate

at her expense

if you and she were to ever meet

she would tell you

to live your life

sing your own song

and dreams are never too big

they just need to be relocated

don’t stay too long

and don’t leave too soon

always have $20 hidden someplace

where no one else can find it

and always find time to pray

before sunrise

watch your friends

and let God watch your enemies

because sometimes they are identical twins

follow your heart

and listen to what it tells you

because it will never lie

drink half your weight in water every day

and fast every once in a while

to keep your soul balanced

be kind to stay cats

they keep the mice in check

and dance in the rain

when it pours

the grass is green on your side too

and it grows faster when you don’t stand on it

be grateful for small things

and put big things in their place

learn from your mistakes

without repeating them

and most of all

find another young one

and teach her how to be

the best that she can become

because of what you learned from me. . .

 

natural

when strange men

touched my afro

i felt helpless

and wanted to run away

it was so violating

to feel hands in my hair

that I didn’t want

fondling and feeling

through my curls and kinks

they said it was so uncommon these days

to see a woman with a natural look

and they were fascinated

couldn't help themselves to bother asking my name

or where i came from

they just wanted to get off

in my hair

one of them wanted to know

if it was virgin

because he had never had one of those before

the other one said

that he was turned on by the smell of coconut oil

it reminded him of being on a deserted island

with just me and him

i didn’t answer

just kept quiet

hoping they would go away

but inside i was angry

wondering why a woman

has to always be subjugated with this brutality

and can’t be herself

without somebody

wanting to touch

feel

and taste

without permission

welcome

my grandmother

always kept a pot of boiling water

on her stove

at all times

she wanted to give a warm welcome

to anyone who came intruding

at odd hours

through a shut window

or a locked door

that pot of water

was her assurance

that whoever showed up

would never forget

what it was like

to go to somebody’s house

uninvited

and next time

be sure to knock

and wait

to be

asked

in

Selah...

They twerked at church
And their father beat them
with an extension cord.
Twerking
Church
Extension cords
Father
Beatings
Five things that don’t belong together
in the same space…
where is the village
where are
the church mothers
the elders
the love
the holy examples
the prayers
where is the family
where is God
we are so preoccupied
with trying to escape from the real world
that we have left the children behind
they don’t know
that their bodies are sacred temples
because nobody told them
so they have nothing else to do
but twerk
at church
who is teaching the fathers
to talk to their daughters
and treat them like queens
instead of choosing to beat
with extension cords
as the beat goes on
and on
and
on
somebody
please find a young girl
and tell her that she’s beautiful
as womb-man
God’s last creation
and so much more than what she sees on BET
somebody 
please elevate her consciousness
teach her how to love herself
and her life
somebody
please find a father
help him to put down the extension cord
and find peace within himself
somebody
please help the church
to be the sacred space that God intends
a place of change
and revelation 
no more
twerking
beating
and vicious cycles
only light
where only sacred dances
are done
in peace…
Selah

she worries

she worries…

about the weather

the day

the years

and how long it will take to get from point A to point B and all points in between…

and how to get there

if she will get there

what to do when she gets there

what she will do when it’s time to leave there

and if she will live to see it all.

she worries

all the time

for nothing

for all things

waking and sleeping

and the vicious cycle continues…

moon dancing

let’s go dancing on the moon

all by ourselves

moving and grooving to the vibration of the stars

catching stardust between our toes

let’s jump from galaxy to galaxy

sky trip above the clouds

and take a lunar expedition

let’s see if there are really any other people out there

in the universe who believe in being free

dancing on the moon with no gravity to hold us down

seeing earth at a distance

from God’s view

let’s go dancing on the moon

all by ourselves

moving and grooving

to the vibration

of

the

stars…

day #22

and this is for my sisters

who have buried countless dreams and realities

never given birth to children and aborted all of their seedlings

buried underground in winter

my sisters

who have walked away from hope because they had no other choice

the ones who stayed because they did

settling for less than they deserved

this is for my sisters

who have put their voices on the shelf

waiting for someone to speak in their behalf

because they are not whole

subjecting themselves to other people’s visions

and demanding nothing in return

my sisters

who are nameless

faceless

ageless

but not helpless

my sisters

Hairstory...is Published!

      During the 16th Century, Chapbooks were a very popular way for European writers to introduce their short stories, ballads and poems to the community inexpensively.  I am happy to introduce my first publication to you in this way. Hairstory is a 14-page chapbook selection of 10 poems from my Images Emerging I & II Collection, and includes a specially chosen artwork for the theme. For a limited time, I will also include a specially chosen poem with artwork that is suitable for framing with your order. 

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