Conversation
“yeah” she said “my man’s gone too
been dead longer than you is old”
“what do you do” i asked
“sit here on the porch and talk to the old folk
i rock and talk and go to church most times”
“but aren’t you lonely sometimes” i asked
“now you gotta answer yo own question”
“i guess the children help a lot you got grandchildren
haven’t you”
“oh the children they come and go always in a hurry
got something to do ain’t no time for old folks
like me”
she squinted at the sun packing her jaw
with bruton snuff
“the old days done gone…and i say good-bye
peoples be going to the moon and all…ain’t that
wonderful…to the moon”
and i said “i see stars all the time aretha franklin
and sly were at madison square garden recently”
“what you doing here” she asked
“i’m a poet” i said
“that ain’t no reason to be uppity”
and the sun beat down on my head while
a dragonfly admonished my flippancy
but a blue and yellow butterfly sat on my knee
i looked her square in the eye
“i ain’t gonna tell you” she said and turned her head
“ain’t gonna tell me what” i asked
“what you asking me you gotta live to be seventy-nine
fore you could understand anyhow”
“now you being uppity” i said
“yeah but i earned it” she replied and shifting her wad
she clapped her hands and smiled
“you been here before”
and i said “yes ma’am but would you tell me just one thing
what did i learn”
and she spat out her juice
“honey if you don’t know how can i”
i wanted to argue but the sun was too hot and the sky
too lazy and god heaved a sigh that swept under my blouse
and i felt me feeling a feeling
she crossed her legs at the ankle
and straightened her back
“tell you this” she said
“keep yo dress up and yo pants down and you’ll be all right”
and i said impatiently “old lady you got it all wrong”
“honey, ain’t never been wrong yet
you better get back to the city cause you one of them
technical niggers and you’ll have problems here”
Rituals
i always wanted to be a bridesmaid
honest to god
i could just see me floating
down that holy aisle leading
some dear friend to heaven
in pink and purple organza with lots and lots
of crinoline pushing the violets out from my dress
hem
or maybe in a more sophisticated endeavor
one of those lovely sky blue slinky numbers
fitting tight around my abounding twenty-eights
holding a single red rose white gloves open in the back
always forever made of nylon and my feet nestled gently
in chandlers number 699 which was also the price plus
one dollar to match it pretty near the dress color
wedding rituals have always intrigued me
and i’d swear to friends i wouldn’t say goddamn not even
once no matter what neither would i give a power
sign but would even comb my hair severely
back and put that blue shit under my eyes
i swear i wanted to be in a wedding
Poem for Stacia
i see wonder
in little things
like thorn figurines rowing
across my table
or stacia caring
by imposing which being
such a little thing wasn’t
a big imposition
and i saw a rainbow
after a very cloudy day
but i looked down to swat
a mosquito and lost
it in the midst
The World Is Not a Pleasant Place to Be
the world is not a pleasant place
to be without
someone to hold and be held by
a river would stop
its flow if only
a stream were there
to receive it
an ocean would never laugh
if clouds weren’t there
to kiss her tears
the world is not
a pleasant place to be without
someone
The Only Song I’m Singing
they tell me that i’m beautiful i know
i’m Black and proud
the people ask for autographs
i sometimes draw a crowd
i’ve written lots of poetry and other
kinds of books
i’ve heard that white men crumble
from one of my mean looks
i study hard and know my facts
in fact the truth is true
the only song i’m singing now is my song
of you
and i’m asking you baby please
please somehow show me what i need
to know so i can love you right
now
i’ve had great opportunities to move
the world around
whenever they need love and truth they call
me to their town
the president he called me up and asked
me to come down
but if you think you want me home i think
i’ll stick around
and i’m asking you baby please baby baby show me
right now most of the things i need to know
so i can love you somehow
The Butterfly
those things
which you so laughingly call
hands are in fact two
brown butterflies fluttering
across the pleasure
they give
my body
I Remember
i remember learning you jump
in your sleep and smile
when you wake up
at first you cuddle
then one arm across my stomach
then one leg touching my leg then
you turn your back
but you smile when you wake up
i was surprised to know you don’t care
if your amp burns all night and that you could
play ohmeohmy over and over again just
because you remembered
i discovered you don’t like hair
in your bathroom sink and never step
your wet feet onto a clean rug
you will answer your phone
but you don’t talk too long and you do
rub my toes and make faces
while you talk
and your voice told her anyway
that i was there
you can get up at three and make sandwiches
and orange juice and tell jokes
you sometimes make incoherent sentences
you snore
and you smile when you wake up
i know you cry when you’re hurt
and curse when you’re angry
and try when you don’t feel
like it and smile at me
when you wake up
these things i learned through
a simple single touch
when fleshes clashed
A Certain Peace
it was very pleasant
not having you around
this afternoon
not that i don’t love you
and want you and need you
and love loving and wanting a
nd needing you
but there was a certain peace
when you walked out the door
and i knew you would do something
you wanted to do
and i could run
a tub full of water
and not worry about answering the phone
for your call
and soak in bubbles
and not worry whether you would want something
special for dinner
and rub lotion all over me
for as long as i wanted
and not worry if you had a good idea
or wanted to use the bathroom
and there was a certain excitement
when after midnight you came home
and we had coffee
and i had a day of mine
that made me as happy
as yours did you
When I Nap
when i nap
usually after 1:30
because the sun comes
in my room then
hitting the northeast
corner
i lay at the foot
of my bed and smell
the sweat of your feet
in my covers
while i dream
Mixed Media
on my bedroom wall hang a poster
two pen and inks one oil one framed photograph
something with a lot of color that i don’t
quite know its substance
and you
cause i got tired of bathing and oiling
and waiting for you to be too tired or
too drunk and when i realized it was your smile
that turned me on i engraved it
just above the shelf where the ash tray sits
i cut your eyes and ears and nose away
leaving your lips to open me
to a very energetic
sober brother
Just a New York Poem
i wanted to take
your hand and run with you
together toward
ourselves down the street to your street
i wanted to laugh aloud
and skip the notes past
the marquee advertising “women
in love” past the record
shop with “The Spirit
In The Dark” past the smoke shop
past the park and no
parking today signs
past the people watching me in
my blue velvet and i don’t remember
what you wore but only that i didn’t want
anything to be wearing you
i wanted to give
myself to the cyclone that is
your arms
and let you in the eye of my hurricane and know
the calm before
and some fall evening
after the cocktails
and the very expensive and very bad
steak served with day-old baked potatoes
after the second cup of coffee taken
while listening to the rejected
violin player
maybe some fall evening
when the taxis have passed you by
and that light sort of rain
that occasionally falls
in new york begins
you’ll take a thought
and laugh aloud
the notes carrying all the way over
to me and we’ll run again
together
toward each other
yes?
[ Untitled ]
there is a hunger
often associated with pain
that you feel
when you look at someone
you used to love and enjoyed
loving and want
to love again
though you know you can’t
that gnaws at you
as steadily as a mosquito
some michigan summer
churning his wings
through your window screen
because the real world
made up of baby clothes
to be washed
food
to be cooked
lullabies
to be sung
smiles
to be glowed
hair
to be plaited
ribbons
to be bowed
coffee
to be drunk
books
to be read
tears
to be cried
loneliness
to be borne
says you are a strong woman
and anyway he never thought you’d really miss him
The Wonder Woman
(A New Dream—for Stevie Wonder)
dreams have a way
of tossing and turning themselves
around and the times
make requirements that we dream
real dreams for example
i wanted to be
a sweet inspiration in my dreams
of my people but the times
require that i give
myself willingly and become
a wonder woman
Categories
sometimes you hear a question like “what is
your responsibility as an unwed mother”
and some other times you stand sweating profusely before
going on stage and somebody says “but you are used
to it”
or maybe you look into a face you’ve never seen
or never noticed and you know
the ugly awful loneliness of being
locked into a mind and body that belong
to a name or non-name—not that it matters
cause you feel and it felt but you have
a planetrainbussubway—it doesn’t matter—something
to catch to take your arms away from someone
you might have thought about
putting them around if you didn’t
have all that shit to take you safely away
and sometimes on rainy nights you see
an old white woman who maybe you’d really care about
except that you’re a young Black woman
whose job it is to kill maim or seriously
make her question
the validity of her existence
and you look at her kind of funny colored eyes
and you think
if she weren’t such an aggressive bitch she would see
that if you weren’t such a Black one
there would be a relationship but anyway—it doesn’t matter
much—except you started out to kill her and now find
you just don’t give a damn cause it’s all somewhat of a bore
so you speak of your mother or sister or very good friend
and really you speak of your feelings which are too personal
for anyone else
to take a chance on feeling
and you eat that godawful food and you get somehow
through it and if this seems
like somewhat of a tentative poem it’s probably
because i just realized that
i’m bored with categories
Straight Talk
i’m giving up
on language
my next book will be blank
pages of various textures and hues
i have touched in
certain spots and patterns
and depending upon the mood the reader can come
with me or take me somewhere else
i smell blood a’cookin
“but why” i asked when she said “i’m afraid
to see men cry”
“because i depend” she replied “on their strength”
“but are they any less strong for crying
nylon stockings wear better if they’re washed first”
mommy said it’s only
pot
luck but you can have some
science teaches us matter
is neither created nor destroyed
and as illogical as it is there is nothing
worthwhile but people
and lord knows how irrational we are
i’ll just have a scrambled egg
if it’s all right
the question turns on a spelling problem
i mean i hate
to squash a roach and thought about giving up
meat between the shadow
and the act falls the essence encore!
the preceding paragraph was brought to you by the letter E
in the name of huemanity
an acorn to an ant
is the same as a white man to a Black JOB
enjoyed waiting on
the lord tell me
why can’t i
and i’m glad i’m smart cause i know
smart isn’t enough and i’m glad
i’m young cause “youth and truth are making love” i’m glad
i’m Black not only
because it’s beautiful but because it’s me
and i can be dumb and old and petty and ugly
and jealous but i still need love
your lunch today was brought to you
by the polytech branch of your local
spear o agnew association
HEY! this is straight talk!
have a good day
Scrapbooks
it’s funny that smells and sounds return
so all alone uncalled unneeded
on a sweaty night as i sit armed
with coffee and cigarettes waiting
sometimes it seems
my life is a scrapbook
i usta get 1.50 per week
for various duties unperformed
The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni Page 11