(for Terry McMillan)

I was a *****
glacier cold solid ice

claws for fingernails
man killing eyes

not myself, not someone else
thirsty for the wild hunt

self-loathing eating away
the way aphids eat the orange tree

no more empathy
where’d that go?

probably jumped off the same cliff
as romance and joy

at the bottom of a cold canyon
swirling in roaring deep water

caught in the current
beneath the surface, far beneath

carried away for three years
no lifejacket, no life

behind reinforced steel
behind the *****

I was a ***** for three years
until the ***** took a scraper to the icebox

climbed over the edge of the canyon
breaking clawed nails on orange clay

****** at the bottom, ****** but alive
swam to the bottom of freezing waters

found my groove
got it back

shot up from the icy foam
exhaled

picked ripe fruit from the tree
cut it into four pieces

one for romance, one for joy
one for empathy, one for me

no more aphids on the orange tree
no more glacier, no more hunt

oh yes, the ***** is still here
nourishing my soul with the fruit of knowledge

reminding me don’t let go
don’t let me be all they see


[Notes:  This poem was published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2015/01/17/for-3-years/

First published in Men’s Heartbreak Anthology.]

(for mama)

I’ll write you a poem
about something
beautiful
about sunny days
open curtains
bougainvillea in bloom
I’ll fill it with verses about love, life
roses that never wither
hearts that never die
when you read it you’ll forget
all the pain in your limbs
in your dreams
in the truth that is life
it’ll be as if you weren’t ailing
with tubes transporting oxygen to your tired lungs
as if there is no pain in the body
as if life wasn’t hard
and taxing
as if people didn’t move away or fade away or stay away
or die
or lose themselves in their own minds

I’ll write you a poem
so beautiful
about beautiful things and beautiful sons
it will whisk you away from tears, anxiety, fear
won’t speak of loss, betrayal, distress
or the spot on the rug
where his pupils were fixed
and dilated
and how when you stare at that spot long enough
the flashbacks roll in
and you relive his last words:
I’m alright
and in it, there will be no talk of depression, ****
or courtrooms filled with ******* judges
instead you’ll find daisies, white puppies
sons who actually live
up to their potentials
husbands who weren’t in denial about their diabetes

I’ll write you a poem and it will be beautiful
because you are beautiful,
life is beautiful
and because beautiful people deserve beautiful poems
and yours will be the most beautiful poem of all
when you read it, think of me
think of love as beautiful
think of life as beautiful
and cry beautiful tears of joy
without shoulda-woulda-coulda’s
without soreness and sadness
only smiles, warm kisses
happiness, blue skies
silver linings, bright sides
where sons have children
hearts are healthy
dementia doesn’t exist
cats don’t die
puppies don’t *** on the rug
ferns stay green forever
and where he is there
sitting in his favorite chair smiling
saying Morning, beautiful


[Note: This poem was originally published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2015/08/09/beautiful-2/]