You tell me you love me
"*******, *****!"
You call out the window at me like Romeo
"Welcome home, beautiful."
The text messages read raw
"I'll always love you, Jamila"
But my name isn't Jamila.
I drop you off for a few days
It's your sister's birthday
A year since her death
Through angry tears you kiss me goodbye
"See you in a couple of days, after the celebration.
I'll be calling you like crazy. I'll miss you like crazy. Answer."
You don't call.
There is a new picture on our computer
She's got glasses, mousy brown hair, and is holding her cell phone
I do too.
I text you and ask you who these people are
"There's no one else, I swear. I love you. I'll marry you. Let's get married, K?"
You think I'm coming to pick you up.
I won't.
You tell me you love me.
Well, *******, *****.

I met my neighbor today.
Well, he's not my neighbor yet,
but he will be when I'm forty-two
and have that burgundy four-door.
He'll have two kids by then,
one from a previous marriage;
loud mouth little *****,
always reminding his step-mother
that his real mom wouldn't stand for
what she wants to call discipline.
I should really remind his dad to return
my rototiller when I see him next.
-
The meteorologist called for sleet
and I still don't see any ****** sleet.
I walked to the fuel station and got a fountain soda;
I counted six stray cats on the way back.
One of them used to belong to a woman
by the name of Jamila who moved back to Atlanta
in July of last summer.
The cat never liked to come to her,
so it stayed behind to chart star patterns.
Sometimes, when no one is out on the street,
the cats meet in alleyways to gossip
about the state of affairs in the soy city.
-
I buried seven heads-up pennies
underneath the yield sign on Union street
last Wednesday, I believe it was.
I'm still waiting on a reply,
but Mr. Cuttlefish isn't known for his punctuality.
No one is around here;
it's bad for your health if everyone knows where
and when you'll be.
They say one of the neighbor kids
found a piece of amber the size of a plum
in a box of Rice Chex from the corner market.
I knew someone would find it eventually.
-
Every umpteenth sidewalk slab has an "X" engraved
in the top, right-hand corner.
It signifies a meeting zone, and if you wait their long enough
I can probably convince one of the
silver men from the condemned apartment building
to let me borrow their aural symphonizer
so I can finally see what it's like
to extract one while it is still alive and roily.
It wont be too long of a wait,
as the men are always brief with conversation
and always seem to blink and breathe
at the exact same time I do.

“I bet she’s good in bed”;
That’s what they said.
As she walked past alone;
On her way home.
From her job at the bar;
Where every guy;
Near and far.
Seems to think it’s okay;
To grab her all day.

When she gets home;
The messages she reads.
The pictures she’s sent;
“you’d look good on your knees’.
On the bus to the shops;
On this guy hops.
Stand right beside her;
Like a tall lanky spider.
Brushes her top;
Just as the bus stops.

She just wants to live;
She just wants to breath.
Without having these men;
Cling on like disease.
She just wants to be;
She just wants to see.
What it’s like for a day;
To come what may.

Without the glance of a man;
Without that penetrating gaze.
She just wants to go home;
Without running a maze.
But that’s not how it is;
It’s really not fair.
She knows that each day;
Each hour, each minute.
Could be her last second;
So why even begin it?

You see what you’ve done?
With your lustful ‘fun’.
You’ve told her she’s meat;
Just there for you in heat.
And like meat to slaughter;
A father loses his daughter.
Well done son;
You’ve had your fun.

Gather your books, your notebooks, your pages and pages
Barely legible Catholic school cursive, oil crusted papers
Coffee stains, cheese danish crumbs, ink marks on your thighs

Use your mother’s brain, your father’s tireless oxen energy
Your sister’s bravery, your grandmother’s mix of mango & tajin,
Your grandfather’s home grown guavas from the rooftop gardens
You come from a legacy, a star doesn’t explode in isolation

At my funeral play Jamila, play Nitty, NoName,
Rihanna, SZA, Mahlia, Kamaiyah, MIA, Nina,
Light a votive in the shape of Beyonce and baby Blue
Sing your blues, the chorus never sounded this good