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| MAMA Paper plates, peanut butter and jelly snowy PBS channel buzzing in the background the scent of generic pine cleaner no rugs feet slap-slapping on the freshly waxed wood floors no stove- just a hotplate which you have rigged to work with the cord from our old electric kettle you make cheese and tomato omelets courtesy of WIC and we watch reruns of Sesame Street The heat of the middle of July makes us instant enemies we trudge back and forth in our 3 room 3rd floor space we fight about the light bill my mothering skills and how much we need a car as we count change to buy a bottle of wine for dinner but you make this struggle easy we can do anything once we get past the paycheck to paycheck you have always dressed life up in pink ruffled dresses served it up on a silver platter I never knew a time of an empty tummy you made what we had enough your laughter eases my worries, you are strong you are my light at the end of a long day you stay with me, endlessly and we mother and daughter make this life we are given….wonderful…. (c) 2006 |
17
prom queen
lean legs
long dreds
hips wide
never a bride
always open
come on in she
says just once you can
try me out let me
know what this
love thing is
all about
28
sitting up straight
meaning well
eyes swell
face bruised
used up
thrown away
she plays with fire
desire rules her
she is lost
found almost too late
35
walks with a stride
shoulders back
skin slick, and black
lovely she is
used up she is not
love she feels
a man that is real
Sunday service
heels and pantyhose
she knows she is blessed
years prior were a test
51
face to the sun
house paid for
daughter visits more
often, she is
rich with happiness
completeness
all years
prior were
just rehearsals
to elevate her
higher
black queen
site unseen
her tests paved the way to
her blessings…
| CHUNK Lane Bryant jeans bustin at the seams I breeze past your lingering stares There are many ways to say fat in our language but I, sir do NOT fit that profile from my supa sized thighs to my triple scooped boot/teasing your glances dancing alone by mirrored walls cause you know they say that nobody wants to dance with a fat girl when in fact…EVERYBODY wants to dance with a fat girl somehow they love that chunk that funk that our thinner sisters never quite got now I’m not sayin we’re better than they are we just have a little more to offer we smother you in our sweetness we smell like pound cake with cherries we move like smoothies down your throat we glide as we ride you to kingdom coming harder I got pounds of juice where most have ounces and I will pounce when beckoned you better come correct or don’t come you think you’d know by now how I will take you break all of your misconceptions of the bigness baby you cant mess with this! I make you afraid of how you feel making you sleep outside my window singing love songs for me pleading for me seeing me from across the room, pants a bit too tight I cause fights in rooms of peace women stare in disbelief when I walk out with the same man they came in with this chunk cannot be messed with you need your daily dose of funk your vitamins A,B, and Chunk you see yourself falling into addiction can’t sleep without our fattening friction soon night will come and you’ll put away those toys that boys think they need those hoes and tricks resembling matchsticks with weave tickling the backs of their knobby knees and you’ll see us the free hair short as can be squeezing into a size 18 and then you’ll realize that maybe you are a fiend for the bigness for the CHUNK… |
| FEELING 110 39 degrees comforter doubled up knees curled TV blaring popcorn popped on the stove with vegetable oil, sea salt and butter we eat it out of paper lunch bags my mane is piled high in a messy, sexy, knot In your t-shirt I feel smaller petite teenaged I like that…. our buttery fingers touch you and I watch each other and whatever comes on the remote is lost but not needed… |
| ON HIS MOTHER’S BED Hall pass crumpled on shag carpeting ripped jeans tossed aside knees wide apart air smells like sweat/ youth exclamation© perfume and apple taffy he is experienced I pretend to be he pushes struggles, tears hurts, tears stream and pool on my right cheek his Mother will be home soon I will be late for 7th period he hands me my jeans and my teenage girl underwear cotton, blue polka dots granny-cut we skip across the highway hand in hand armed with band instruments and backpacks we are young for now… |