.

What can I say
that she's not heard before
so many voices are calling

Where can I find
every poetic word
so in my arms she'll be falling

How can I stand out
a face in the crowd
from all the others now showing

Coerce her eyes
till she sees no one else
gazes my way now are flowing

When will it be
till I'm all that she wants
another her heart, won't be stealing

What can I say
that she's not heard before,
so she will know how I'm feeling

can we all hunker down
under the Magnolias
in the sand of the Plantation
driveway under
a confederate flag anymore?

draw our plans like Lee
would have, with a saber
a picture of lines
scribbled in the sand-
our carbine- loaded by our side
at the ready
our heritage the old war
or states rights
or slavery

when so much time and  lives
have passed
and people oughta know more
about peoples,
about history,
about struggling

which all races do.
It wasn't pretty then.
Not the least bit.
And cotton , high or otherwise,
needs no slavery,
and bigotry is
ancient as
sorghum and
horse meat.

And man is man, proven to depend on a
falsity or hate  to
defend his ancestry, his teachings,
instead of the question.

Here, with a stick
I scribble, while
down hunkering,
the least threatening position,
to ask of myself,
have I done what
I could. And the answer
of course,
the black man and the Mexican,
the Redman, the sensible ,
might answer, is
it will take time.
Do we have enough?

I’m not sure why I thought this.
I had a rule, fat girls weren’t allowed to have short hair.
What I was saying is, I wasn’t allowed to have short hair because I was fat.
A form of punishment you could call it.
I didn’t think I deserved to have short hair.
Today I was going to go get my hair done.
I was sitting and looking at a magazine, I was waiting to see if they had anyone available.
I don’t know why, for some reason I decided to finally cut my hair short.
While the girl was cutting my hair, I looked around and saw other clients.
I didn’t want to look; I was afraid I had made the wrong choice.
It was too late though; she was already cutting it.
But I raised my head after I gave myself a speech inside my head.
I said it is just hair. It will grow back Steph.
I peeked at it and looked down quickly.
I looked again, is that really me?
The hairdresser blow dried my hair.
She asked afterwards, do you like it?
I didn’t know what to say besides yes I love it.
I really love it.
Do I really love it?
It’s a big change from my long hair.

Stain glass fills the room; I always loved looking at it.
Seats fill the room also; a cross is on the wall.
I felt so safe here at one time.
I always wanted to come here, this use to feel like home.