or the tall blond haired gold/bronze-muscled
lifeguards who played with the little white ones but gawked
at us like we were lepers
sound. the water serpent’s breath: a depth as vast as my hatred
skin. my chocolate coating. the rash gone now
as a kid i couldn’t stand the drying effect water had
coming out wet, cracked and sore all over. one time
i caught a starfish, second summer after my divorce
“i’m not into beaches, or riding waves these days.” the only time
i like the beach is when it’s cold hostile and gray. i feel
kin to it then. or at night. when it speaks a somber tongue
only the enlightened perceive. when the ageless mouth joins
mine. when soft arms caress in timeworn gentleness. or the
poor man’s beach, where bodies echo my chromatic scheme
from just-can-pass to pitch-tar-black. at home among fleshy
rumps, tummys, thighs,
breasts jiggling a freedom our hearts will never know
sound. eternal splash. a depth as vast as my love
beached. i turn into the blanket. urge him to fuck me. he
thinks it’s corny. i get mad. i get up, stomp away, kicking
the sand . . . while he was with her i was on
the beach wishing he was with me . . . at the beach
aware of his hands urgent to touch, take me before we
return to work/our separate lives . . . here. i watch
you swim into the crest. i’d rather sit and sip wine
enjoy the wind than swim or wade. i smile secretly
at thinly clad slappers-on of lotion/a potion to ward off
skin cancer. in my fantasy i would challenge the ocean
a feminist ahab stalking the great white whale. harpoon it
and ride down down to meet davy jones, content
for my america dies with me
sound. swoosh swoosh the scythe. a depth as vast as my vision
i could live by it, pacifica. learn to like it. now that you’re
with me i might even let you teach me how to tread water
I Live for My Car
can’t let go of it. to live is to drive. to have it function
smooth, flawless. to rise with morning and have it start
i pray to the mechanic for heat again and air conditioning
when i meet people i used to know i’m glad to see them until
i remember what i’m driving and am afraid they’ll go outside and
see me climb into that struggle buggy and laugh deep long loud
i’ve become very proficient at keeping my car running. i
visit service stations and repair shops often which is why
i haven’t a coat to wear or nice clothes or enough money each
month to pay the rent. i don’t like my car to be dirty. i spend
saturday mornings scrubbing it down. i’ve promised it a new bumper
and a paint job. luckily this year i was able to pay registration
i dream that my car is transformed into a stylish
convertible and i’m riding along happily beneath sun glasses
the desert wind kissing my face my man beside me. we smile
we are very beautiful. sometimes the dreams become nightmares
i’m careening into an intersection the kids in the back seat scream
“mama!” i mash down on the brake. the pedal goes to the floor
i have frequent fantasies about running over people i don’t like
with my car
my car’s an absolute necessity in this city of cars where
you come to know people best by how they maneuver on the freeway
make lane changes or handle off-ramps. i’ve promised myself
i will one day own a luxury model. it’ll be something
i can leave my children. till then i’m on spark plugs and lug nuts
keeping the one i have mobile. i live for it. can’t let go of it
to drive is to live
When My Time Comes
i will speak to the night. it will listen
words faint as breath
a door thru which i escape/another world
imagination carries me
i am light, float/smoke/waft
this dance on the killing floor of spirit
light one candle and move on
oboe my mouth turned inward
dream i am possessed by the dream: arrival
the fire
my skin peels off, beneath it soft moist black earth
mother the candle burns slow
communicate? it’s hard to talk
difficult to sculpt
the flame gives off no warmth
the many ways i spell hate on every empty wall
when my time comes
i will speak to the night
it will rise
and follow
Doctor’s Report
patient complains of social dysfunction related to color
symptoms: homicidal/suicidal tendencies
erratic episodes of deep depression
chronic intermittent unemployment requiring outside financial
assistance (beg, borrow, steal)
past history: patient is a young black female divorcee with
two children. she is alert and cooperative
one moment and sullen and resentful the next. she states that
the complaint which brings her here today is on-going since birth
she also states she has seen other physicians in the past and
although they agree that she “does have something” they were
unable to determine its etiology
examination: patient exhibits emotional instability, for
example, crying and laughing at the same time
other mood swing observed encompassed hope to anger; an
insatiable hunger expressed by the patient as a “desire for freedom
and power of self-determination.” this phenomenon has no
apparent physiological source
recommendation: institutionalization
Giving Birth
against bone. rubbing. pressure against bladder
i pee and pee and pee
and drink water and more water. never enough water
it twists in my womb
my belly a big brown bowl of jello quakes
twenty pounds and climbing
eat eat eat. milk. got to have ice cold milk
vitamins and iron three times daily
cocoa butter and hormone cream
infanstethoscope
sex sex sex. can’t get enough of that funky stuff
bras getting too small. is that me in the mirror?
it bucks/brings belches
smooth skin. glossy hair. strong nails
i’m 99% body. my brain has dissolved into
headaches tears confusion
my navel sticks out/eye of cyclops
my life for an apple fritter
snipping the elastic in panties, another pair ruined
nausea. vomit. muscle strain
”they” tell you to eat fresh fruit and lots of
vegetables. eating fresh fruit and lots of vegetables
afraid of what it will/won’t be
anxious. it’s got to look like him
it’s got to look like me. be healthy. be live. be all right
why doesn’t it hurry up and come
read books. more books. know the tv program by heart
fantasies about returning to slim
the ass sleeps. tingles when wakened
walking is hard. sitting is hard. sex, an effort
he stands in lines for me
thirty pounds and climbing
people smile, are sympathetic
will it be capricorn or aquarius?
can’t drive.
too big to get behind the steering wheel
ice cream cone jones
(out of three hundred deliveries this year, ours
is his third legitimate, says doc, “it’s what
they are doing to the black community”)
daily reports to the grandmothers
is that me in the mirror?
he worries. i worry. we worry together
more hugs and affection
i can’t reach my feet
more calcium and iron
wow. my gums are bleeding. scurvy?
it rubs. twists. kicks. moves
sex? it takes too much out of me
the flu. food poisoning. cold
too tight pants bite me
preparation: pelvic spread. vaginal walls widen
forty pounds and climbing
showers. no more long hot luxury baths
muumuus and mules. naked = relief
his ear to my stomach to hear the heart beat
emergency cookies
it presses against my diaphragm. it’s hard to
breathe. can’t sleep good. dreams
more dreams. it’s a boy. it’s a girl
backaches. swollen feet
refrigerator lover, clandestine rendezvous at 2 AM
advice from the experienced, questions from the barren
the planets are lining up in scorpio
suitcase packed and ready
names for him. names for her
(everybody-else-we-know-who’s-pregnant-is-having
a-perfect-baby pressure)
sex? oh yeah. used to be fun
it turns. kicks. twists
that’s me in the mirror, definitely
why doesn’t it hurry up and come
crying jags. throb of false labor
will he be there
when it’s time?
My Love Brings Flowers
a bouquet
for all the reasons
he does not have to give
it’s material things make married so hard
i make one chicken feed five
make clothes ten years old fashionable
rejuvenate one fake sable coat
poverty endows one with magic
(how to do without turns garden to weed)
basil and blackthorn
my voice i have no thing
henbane and wild thyme
i scrape bottom
nettle and rye
i sweep out dead dreams
plum buds and tamaris
i promise the kids
moss and china asters
i borrow from friends
ivy yucca and wild rue
dark empty arms
money be as mad as you can afford
poor demands be alert, on the dime, sane
clumsy moment, a week’s pay gone. too heavy a foot
$70 in brake repairs. a forgotten pill is $400
to abort. soon they’ll corner the market on air
i’ll gasp and curse my skin
unable to breathe
(ganja takes the stiff out, wine cuts the knot)
he comes in with a bouquet of smiles
i love him for the first time again
down to dirty sheets and stinky socks
down to unpaid bills and beans 4 times a week
to the bone
to the blood rose
Felon
my heart comes thru my skin
they’ve snatched my kids
if the police catch me home i’m sunk
(when handcuffed the first and greatest itch
is my nose)
better find some place to spend the night
the car
sleep behind the wheel behind the
apartment building in winter night cold
doors locked
i wake but the scream goes on
can’t tell mama about this
crimester. only crime i’m guilty of trying to
play alice straight in crookedland
money bitch. can’t get hold of it
if the cops stop me it’s jail without bail
drive. careful. one eye on the road
one eye on the rear view. one eye on tomorrow
help county hospital psycho ward
the gay psychiatrist tells me “write a book”
my employer saves my neck cuz it’s his wallet
his attorney thinks i’m a cut above scum
the foster mother smiles beneath her black bouffant wig
and tells me my children are well behaved
court the judge is black-robed and pleasant
nods. extenuating circumstance (so rare to see
a nigger here on somethin’ other than homicide dope
prostitution rape robbery)
yes
the records are sealed
they almost took me out this time
provide he said. provide
the condition of my release/getting them back
in my custody
i must provide (try to make a dollar outta 15¢)
i will. with difficulty
but i will
’Tis Morning Makes Mother a Killer
mean
the day grinds its way slowly into her back/a bad
mattress stiffens her jaw
it is the mindless banalities that pass as conversation
between co-workers
her paycheck spread too thin across the bread of
weeks; too much gristle and bone and not enough
blood
meatless meals of beans and corn bread/nights
in the electronic arms of the tube
mean as a bear
carrying groceries home in the rain in shoes
twice resoled and feverish with flu
it is the early dawn
mocking her unfinished efforts; unpaid bills,
unanswered letters, unironed clothes
tracks
of pain in her face left by time; the fickle high of it
facing the mirror of black flesh
mean as mean can
pushed to the floor but max is not max enough
no power/out of control/anxiety
it is the sun illuminating cobwebs
that strips her of her haunted beauty; reveals
the hag at her desperate hour
children beware
Imagoes
1
white birds do not eat them (to get out
they taste bitter or dry up
here in this
drops from the air. blood slag grey limbo)
wings for casting spells
crisp thin splashes of color
ground up fine: juju
a lover will speak true
or
cocoons in his food
spirit of blood rush enters
there will be many babies
fat and cocoa happy
wings spread
against glass. wings. to be free
wings on night
wings against my face. my skin screams
white birds do not eat them
2
phobia
butterflies in the jar
the child imprisons them. watches
delights. colors. “they eat lettuce,” another
child smiles, “put holes in the lid so they can breathe”
in morning’s dew a burial
she puts the tiny winged things amid green leaves
3
moths/souls of the unhappy dead
(the dog chases them across the field
stunned by the mad beating of black wings, retreats)
4
inside my stomach flutter winged dreams
no future. baby ails. husband, eyes glazed high nods out
children in heat/puberty/poverty. they want
the walls stink. mildew. smudged dark dirty mirrors
bruised flesh. s
he bleeds. dissatisfied
vein/mouth opened up and spurting
5
in the dark room
i listen to him undress
pants drop to the floor
he pulls back the sheets his
cool touch my warm ready
his hands to my waist
inside i flower. he finds me. alights
his proboscis uncoils
deep into me
sucks up
6
against my face the flutter
what’s wrong
there’s something in here. flying around
it’s nothing
i hear it
go back to sleep
i’m afraid
keep still
i felt it come at me
a dream
no. something real
7
(who comes to the sleeper in midnight city skin)
cocaine lumin white it flits thru night
feathered antennae
cool air. caress the light/my body calls
pain on return
the steel cocoon
carries me down slick streets
on my way to the end of the line
the door open
my red skin
great great grandmama walks the trail of tears
the white powder
carries me down silk sheets
on my way to the end of the line
my nose open
Wicked Enchantment Page 3