I remember laying on the cold earth as a child,
watching a sky heavy with secrets,
when the first snow flurry brushed my cheek
a hush so soft I could have drifted away,
wrapped warm in my jacket,
the world outside fading
until only comfort remained.

At my grandparents’ house,
sunlight spilled across the kitchen floor in the morning,
and my grandmother’s sandwiches arrived like small miracles,
each bite a kind of promise
that the world was gentle here.
Every hug with them was an anchor,
every moment of excitement a burst of belonging
my heart at ease, my nervous system quietly humming
in the certainty of love.

But it was France,
in a tucked-away little room on the first floor of a strange house,
where I discovered what peace could feel like
for my body and soul.
There, the bed waited beneath white curtains,
the windows open to a gentle wind
that made the curtains dance,
soft as dreams.
I lay down, weightless,
a soft blanket pulled to my chin,
and drifted into the kind of nap
where anything felt possible
the world stilled, my mind a blank canvas,
filled only by the magic of being safe.

Now I understand
Peace is more than memory,
it’s the calm that fills my chest when the world is gentle,
the ease that settles in my bones,
the safety that softens every breath.
It’s a nervous system at rest,
a body unburdened,
a quiet mind that finally trusts where it is.

Wherever I find this stillness
in winter’s hush,
in sunlit kitchens,
in the sway of white curtains,
I know I am home.
Peace lives inside me now,
teaching me that calm and safety are not places,
but a way my whole self can feel
when I let the world be soft
and trust that I am safe.

I burn my one effulgent hour
at a driveway banquet of unwanted goods,
listening to a woman in a Sag Harbor T-shirt
tell me her son’s wife hates her,
she never sees the grandkids,
and she’s moving to Costa Rica
because the dollar goes farther
and no one visits anyway.

Through my sunglass scrim
I watch komorebi flicker
across the varicose veins
of her blue-white calves
and wonder why I even stopped,
why I ask the price of a microwave
I don’t want.

Twenty, she says,
brand new, never used.
I hand her two crumpled dollars
for a box of yellowed greeting cards
with kittens and roses
and tell her my real name.

All the while
I feel the light through leaves,
the ache to bite your buttermilk neck,
to nip the chantarelles of your earlobes,
while the shadow falls,
reminding me I’d better love
whatever I am doing -
because it may be the last thing I ever do.

„Ok I get that it was like a bad experience and stuff but like why did you have to write a poem or a song or whatever about it?“

I am a woman.
I am too be seen and not heard.
I am a woman.
But I live in a man’s world.

Men are visual creatures they say.
They like women who like to play.
They see the pretty girl up on the stage
They hear her voice but ignore her rage.

The rage that shows in her words and within
the lines she sings but they won‘t listen.
And she screams and she pleads
And she cries but no one sees
The burden she carries for the rest of her life
So she falls silent, sits still and she smiles

But not today! I will not shut up!
Because you need to listen and I need to talk!
This the only way I can be free!
I am a woman and you’ll let me speak!

burning light, it shades
effortlessly protects me
stay for a moment

So out of touch,
Lost, out overlooking sea.
Adrift, alone —
Cast out, wayside of the rift.
Scream, beg, but no sound.

Tired, futile to ease,
One foot forward, drag the back.
Adrift, alone —
Struck down, caught by the plague.
Scream, beg, but vacuum surrounds.

So uneasily unstable,
A crumbling world, can't fix the cracks.
Adrift, alone —
Fallen once, an angel, now trapped.
Scream, beg, but alas,

No sound.

They say it takes a village, right?
“Yeah, a village for sure.”
When all I see is siege
And a city at war
I got a rich soul
But I’m extremely poor
My best friend got shot
I couldn't even mourn
Had to be a man
Had to join the band
Gangland
Rain Man
While these colonizers are playing hangman
With the Fam
Creating a league of their own called the J.J.E
Judge, Jury, and Executioner
Quicksand, I'm in a jam
Sticky ****
Big whips, crack rock, hollow tips
All I see
An introspective perception through these wide brown eyes
Hypnosis
Under a spell
It's a scary movie out here
Like Jeepers Creepers
I got the Bible with the Glock on my side
So, I won’t see the reaper
Seeing beakers on the stove
Around four years old
Product
But no environment
Living in this ghetto jungle
Everyday trying to get the first down and not fumble
Loose yards, lose life!
That's just the story of the Black plight
Black life
Not even looking to make it past eighteen
When all the odds are against me
How could another being that looks just like me
Really hate me, like they hate me!
Relate me
Brothers right?
Not that simple
When all they see is ******* colors!
Not even the mothers or the fathers
That's what the streets taught us
Play for keeps
Don’t speak
Just keep it on you, like you play for the heat
Like a feline, I split the beeline
Tale of Two Cities
Got to stay ten toes down
Always on my feet
Even though I know the Lord is with me
Mommy and Daddy just got popped
For disputing with cops
Body drops
So mad
So red
That now, I'm shooting at the ops
Body drops
**** this and **** that
That's all I hear
**** this and Sip that
That's all I hear
Pop this, Smoke this
Help!
Get your mind clear
So high, mind gone
Can fly to Navy pier
Red and blue lights in my rear
If it’s my time, then time’s up
No need to fear
Heart dark as coal
Nerves cold as ice
Hate in the eyes
Shots fired
The end is near
No need to cry
Dry your eye
Not even one tear
This is the life of a Black adolescent
I wish I had a different lesson
To see,
I wish I had a different vision
To grow,
I wish I could change the mission
I listen,
I wish I could hear the freedom coming for my life

But this is just the life of a Young, Black, Adolescent
I can stop running…

They say it takes a village, right?
“Yeah, a Village, right?”

Arrive in a neighborhood not mine.
Phoenix sun splits the mailboxes,
Cracked cement, bald lawns, deflated kiddie pools,
sippy cups gone brittle in the sun.

A toddler screams
until a sibling gathers him inside.
Helios whips his chariot down the street,
steals my parking space.
White Shell Woman hushes the child
with a wind of cool dust.

I buy
donuts, Cheetos, pickles-
eat them in the car.
Gas station sink, hair and grit.
I scrub off orange powder.
Kokopelli swings from the paper towel rack,
flicking drops of water onto my face,
flirting, laughing at my small hungers.

Cemetery, sitting on the hood.
Graves hum in the heat.
Yours more-so.
Hecate steps from the shadow of a mesquite,
offers me three paths,
none of them home.
Coyote pads along the stone wall,
head cocked, grin sharp,
watching my pulse quicken.
White Shell Woman whispers:
Run.

The blood in me stirs-
knife-bright, restless.
I step off the hood,
already fleeing toward
any other life.