cheap wine in a champagne flute... because
i love champagne flutes...
tho not so much the wine
grocery store chocolate cake and
empty wig heads (i dont even own a wig)
slow spring rain and norah jones
stepping around what is apparently
every plastic crate
ever sold in this burg
slowly unpacking what's left of my life

i do love champagne flutes... (tho not so much the wine) and
unexpected italian love stories
in Tuscany... and subtitles even...
what can go wrong?

are sixty year old newly divorced Black girls
allowed to have dreams of
Tuscan romance, with private jokes and subtle kisses that
smell of night air?

part a:

theres a level of freedom
in poverty
To be too broke to make payment arrangements or even promises... is liberating
thats what i see when i sit at the window on my handy-dandy trusty blue grounding stool...
looking out at the mayhem that ensues EVERY warm sunny day
(because apparently the cold is not conducive to the proper carrying out of shenanigans)...
freedom to...
just not give a ****...
Freedom from fear of consequences. Freedom from
fear of judgement.  Freedom from Integration, and all that comes with it... like "microaggresions".
no honey, all these aggressions are of the macro sort... major even.
In the face... or upside the  head
whats a lil blood spilled?
whats a lil jail time?... thats IF "5-0" even shows up to this place
Liberating I say...

part b:

I have made my own
newly liberated self
a fixture in this place
of refugees...
pleasant but serious and
easily recognized by
free flowing vibe
loud clothes
and wild hair
sharing
milk and fruit and
mothers care...
who quietly
exits
when the liquor flows
too freely
because life here
is cheap... and
times are hard... and
tempers flare
and
I would rather sit at the window on my handy-dandy trusty blue grounding stool... looking out
at the mayhem...
than to be out there

I am a
Lightly melanated,
Hella Black,
Adequately armed,
Heavily mediTated,
Well Educated,
Softly speaking,
Bare footed,
Luxurious loc wearing,
Essentially oiled,
Evolved Activist of a
Spiritual gangsta
Make no mistake...
I am a
Warrior in this garden... and while I Walk in the light...
I ain't afraid of the dark
My soul is in order
Thus, I fight
...I fight

You can count on

Babies to cry… and
Cars to break down

You can count on
Teenagers to lose their minds

You can count on
Children’s kisses to fill your heart… and
Flowers and trees to bud in springtime

You can count on
Traffic to be worse
When you are late for work… and

The Moon to glow… and
The Sun to shine

You can count on
Fish on Fridays… and

Fourth of July Bar-b-que...
Black-eyed peas on New Years Eve... and

Me
Always
Loving
you

i missed my calling
but not my window
ive lived to tolerate
innuendo
about my age
and my grays
and better days
but its okay
cuz my best days are
right now...

window still wide open
letting in and out
my flow...
champagne
and peaceful chaos
and sultry ****
alchemy
from all the years of
**** i know

he says he loves me
and im not sayin that he doesn't...
im just sayin
that I have no evidence
to suggest that he does... and
have more evidence that sustains that he does not
in fact
give one **** for the amazin yet complicated being that is me...
i am far too jaded
for blind allegiances... and
******* sticks like hot grits
...that bears repeating
******* sticks like hot grits

I am the deepening mystery
I am the weighted blanket that enfolds in midnights
I am a force of Nature
I am the morning coo-ing at daybreak
I am a dew covered field of
swaying wheatgrass
I am bluebonnets by the side of a
little used road
I am fall leaves underfoot
I am a sudden rain shower
I am hightide in a full moon
I am ocean waves crashing the rocks
I am a gently flowing stream
I am the slow breeze that softly
kisses the neck
I am the hard and high wind that leaves one grasping for purchase
I am the lightning storm that ends a scorching day
I am the scorching day
I am an electromagnetic field
I am a solar flare
I am the hazy stillness before the earthquake... and
Every now and again
I am the mothaphuckin earthquake