I had a dream I was a tulip: pink & perky, blooming in the rays of your gaze. I awoke from this floral dream to find myself crippled by clutter: stacks of paper piled high, sprinkled bits of broken jewelry, flailing sirens zipping by. I hear you whisper, “This life is an unholy alter for you, God’s most delicate creation.” I feel my soft pink wings catch the wind of your breath and fly me back to my home of moist earth. I will wait for you here, basking in late summer sun, hosting honey bees & tattooed butterflies. One day I’ll know you beyond the dream, hear your footsteps as you stroll on cobblestoned paths. And if the leaves start to fall before you approach, I’ll be here next year. You already know, my spirit is a pink-stained perennial.
In all your obnoxious certainty, I still see the Searching in your eyes, floating, looking for a soft place to ground itself. And that’s how I know we are fate. My hair, my palms, my tongue are velvet, crushed from years of holding on too tight to those who didn’t want to land. Now they are soft for you & your arrival. Be here.
I love your music
But I can no longer stand the sound of your voice
So I press pause
But even in the silence
I hear you
Whispering in my ear
“Come here baby…”
So I turn my head
Arms swaying towards your gravitational center
I sense the warmth of your mass
But when I move
You’re no where to be found
Just like always
Just like always
More promise than reality
Your truth is a stone the color of West African dust that hangs from your neck, swinging from nipple to nipple, keeping time as you survey this city you call a home.
Your truth is a lover whose forehead you kiss each night as you tuck her in beside you, pulling her warmth closer, nestling your cheek into her crooks and curves.
Your truth is a leather-bound book you hold squarely in your palms each morning, filled with words already carved into your tongue, whose meaning you have meditated on and become one with.
Your truth is a dance that you cannot remember learning and cannot forget, a rhythm with the force of gravity that pulls your heels into the floor and rocks your hips with the ebb and flow of an easy wave.
And for this reason I find myself numb once in your presence; have difficulty seeking words honest enough to rise up and meet yours; have to strain to keep my face from tensing up into a confused half-smile.
You see, I keep my truth stuffed deep down in my back pocket during the day and locked securely in my dresser at night. In the morning I swallow other people’s truths, feel things I once heard done or said ease uncomfortably down my throat. And when I move, there’s a constant uncertainty to my steps and an uneasiness in my shoulders.
Your breath is soil.
My skin is cellophane.
I’m not ready to get dirty.
I’m not ready for you.
So I left for a while,
I thought I’d be right back,
But life’s an airplane in motion
And I enjoy the flight,
But I came right to you once I touched down on the pavement,
Knew I’d see my name in your hand as you stood waiting.
I just knew you’d be waiting.
In a taxi to your place,
Your smile all in my head.
Remembering how soft your sheets are when we’re in your bed.
Thinking how hard we laughed when you burned up those biscuits,
How I put my hand on your cheek and said I would fix it.
Shouldn’t be hard to fix it.
Then I press your buzzer by the door,
When I hear your voice it sounds unsure.
Say you’ll meet me on the inside stairs
As if you’ve got something to hide up there.
What’s to hide in there?
When I finally see your face
Your smile is faintly traced
Just a slight embrace
I say I missed you
Ask if I can make us some tea
You say, “No, no, I’ve got company.”
Oh, well I can come back later
I’ll bring some wine.
You say, “No, no, it’s fine.
I’ll call later.”
As you part your door
Walk inside to leave
I catch a glimpse of blue
Color of the Aegean Sea.
It’s fresh and cool
Splashed across your wall.
The same accent we talked about at the end of your hall.
Always said when I moved in we’d paint it together.
But that was seasons ago,
Before the warm weather.
It’s been a long winter,
But I knew I had to leave.
Just can’t believe you’d paint without me
How could you paint blue without me?
(Definitely turning this one into a song – Copyrighted material people)
I just want to make you proud.
Give you a sunrise at which to marvel.
Plant the roots you watered deep and watch them sprout strong.
Be a tree whose shade you can rest under.
You’ve laid every brick on my path,
Using blood as mortar,
And I just wanna make you proud.
Watch your cheeks rise and swell with warmth,
See your eyes soft and wet, no longer afraid.
Tears of dignity.
When the music goes off
The silence between my joints
In the space between my ribs & my diaphragm
The silence stuffed up behind my ears & below my throat & between my eyebrows…
It seeps out into the room
And I have to feel the space
I have to hear the ringing of me.
I’m so loud in the silence.
Hello my loves,
April is National Poetry Month, so I’ve decided to periodically share more of my poetry throughout the month of April.
Some of it will be fully fledged poems that I have written and edited. Others will be just little pieces that come to me. This piece it the latter.
I know my ancestors guided my feet through fields of dried grass, leading me finally under the shelter of you & your boldly righteous tree of a soul.
There were bushes of lavender along the way, placed there for promise. A lingering scent of antique memories and newly made wishes.