'Grandmama, who is he?' the pretty, wide-eyed lass asked.
A grimace set on his lips; in his wrinkles stories were masked.
‘My child, look closely- it is your grand Grandpapa you behold.’
As Grandmama studied the painting, no longer did she look old.

'Tell me more, Grandmama!' A curious young lass was she.
‘Well darling child, here’s a tale- pray listen carefully.
When I was your age, young girls were made to clean and cook.
I was not sent to school, and never had I laid eyes on a book.

My father was a teacher, though he never did teach me,
One day during class, I was sent to serve him his evening tea.
He was father’s star pupil; the fateful month was May.
Our eyes met for the first time, and never could I look away…

The next day after class, together we snuck off gleefully,
Talking excitedly, hand in hand, we hopped from tree to tree.
Over two months, he presented me with a gift I really did need,
Armed with passion, he taught me how to write and read.

"…your daughter like a good Hindu girl must behave, Sir"
Villagers had too many eyes and ears; the rest was all a blur.
For his star pupil, Father’s classes no longer had room.
I was kept locked; the family hastily searched for a bridegroom.

The man they found was ugly, disrespectful, and arrogant,
Your Grandpapa found out; through my window a note he sent.
“Run away with me, my pearl. Life without you is lifeless”
That note was a bugle- it awoke me from my distress, oh yes…

We got married in a small temple and ran far, far away,
For three lovely years, there was not a melancholy day.
Alas my cruel father was not one to admit defeat, and so
Grandpapa was gone; baby in my arms, I was a helpless widow.'

'Grandmama, don't cry! Grandpapa is watching from above.'
‘Child, heed my advice: never must you be afraid to fall in love.’
The young girl studied the painting again- staring quite a while.
She could swear Grandpapa’s lips were now curled into a smile.

Pray.
Fold your hands or raise them empty.
True worship is in the sand.
It's knowing your coasts.
Knowing where you stop and where the Mystery begins.
Setting invisible standards on scales
you will never step foot on yourself
and being completely ok with that.
Empty hands are easy to hold on with,
so he squeezes with all his might.
Tighter with each missed meal,
tighter still with each cold night.
He holds on to the stories of Sundays,
of Lion's dens and wooden boats.
So that in the darkness of poverty's grave,
He prays.
Staying true to that thing with feathers in his soul,
he finds laughter amid storms
and wrestles smiles through the pain.
He grows.
From some invisible seed planted some time ago.
Grandmama's kitchen was a regular glass-walled greenhouse
And there wasn't anybody around
that could look themselves in the mirror
should one day they take to throwing stones.
Pray,
Mama told him.
So he closed his eyes and spoke.
Truth to remove the cold,
bread of spirit to fill his hunger.
But when he opened his eyes he felt pain in his side,
so he prayed again.
Knees on the ground,
he expected the earth to sprout cheerio trees,
the clouds to rain blankets,
and Grandmama to come around the next corner.
Such was the mustard seed.
Often times he slept after prayer.
Not always of peace.
Sometimes he was afraid his eyes
would see the same world when he opened them.
So he held them shut and saw Grandmama in dreams.
Pray,
Mama told him,
for patience and peace.
His empty hands still raised,
Still empty,
he gazed into the rafters of the one place he felt safe.
Singing songs of Sundays
and praying like Friday nights.
He felt light wrap around him,
rainbows he thought,
because he liked the colors,
and he learned while he was hungry
to pray.

Children are lucky because they have
A Grandma and  a Grandmama
Nonna, Mhamó, Abuela, Bibi
Babcia, Giagiá, Avó, Oma

Nagymama, Mormor, or Kuku wahine
Are names of love for their Nan
O baachan, Babushka, Tutu, Halmeoni
Are certainly not names for a man

Ouma, Savta, Bubbi, Geema
Nai Nai, Nona, Gramms and more
Bomma, Mawmaw, Yaya, Nana
If I keep going you’ll think  I’m a bore

All names for their Grandma
The one they adore
That special someone
Who’s love to the core

She plays with them, cuddles, and keeps them all warm
She feeds them, she rears them takes over the chore
But all of this just to say, lest we forget
Grandmas are LOVE LOVE  LOVE and more

He tried not to cry. With his trenching tool,
which weighed five pounds, he began
digging a hole in the earth. He felt a fool.

The intransitive Martha. Over Her letters he'd drool,
and over the burning fire he'd place the pea-can.
He tried not to cry with his trenching tool.

Bible in his knapsack, towards Than Khe the cruel
march agonized, where the burning cross would then stand
digging a hole in the earth. He felt a fool.

He sat at the bottom of his foxhole and rubbed the wool
sweater brought by resupply choppers. The other shouted from their holes, "How'd Ted land?"
He tried not to cry with his trenching tool.

"I swear to God-boom-down. Not a word." The others fueled
the rage-rage against the dying of the light. Jim felt bad
digging a hole in the earth. He felt a fool.

By know you are old enough to try to understand
What love is between a women and a man
You see, at this point you don't have names
And Gregory can't settle the same.
Gregory is your farther as you know
You're not even a thought yet we can't wait for you to grow.
You won't be born in the next five years
But as soon as you're planted I'll cry happy tears.
Daddy and I are preparing
For when we  have to start caring.
Everything we do right now is for your advantage
So there won't be much struggle in your life to manage
Dad will soon be in the real world
And I will be his supportive girl.
I will still live with grandmama
And he'll still live his mama.
As of now that is okay
Because as long as we pray
God will be there for you, dad and I
Assuring us everything will be fine.
Ten minutes before I was stressing
But then remembered that God is always blessing.
That rule is for you as well as the rest of planet Earth.
I can't want to give birth
But I know I'm not ready
I gotta take it slow and steady.
Daddy will get the best job and make good money
So your days will always be sunny.
I will continue to learn and save some funds
And the best will never go undone.
I'm two years behind and dad is two years ahead
So that we can afford the best place for you to lay your head.
Dad is so sure and confident that I am the one
no matter how much I say I'm done.
I couldn't imagine myself with anyone else by my side
No one can handle the bumpy ride.
Dad would go through it all for you kids
He even went to Madrid.
But I hope and pray we never disappoint
Because we became joint
Without the love and motivation
How could we have reach salvation?
I started on February 16th
Everyday into every week
Building together
For an amazing forever.
So when you're mad at us just remember
That things will always get better,
We did nothing but try,
For you everything we buy,
A family we will always be,
Although sometimes we might not agree,
We work the hardest we can,
And made the strongest plan,
For you, our creation out of love,
Which is made of
Some of dad, some of mom
And a whole lot of love bombs.
So as I study tonight
And dad fight the world full of spite,
We remember everything we do
Is motivated towards you.
When pa is playing in the back yard,
Or i'm rocking you back to bed as a guard,
We value every moment
For you kids to never be broken

Love Mommy

P.s. I forever love you kiddies

289

I know some lonely Houses off the Road
A Robber’d like the look of—
Wooden barred,
And Windows hanging low,
Inviting to—
A Portico,
Where two could creep—
One—hand the Tools—
The other peep—
To make sure All’s Asleep—
Old fashioned eyes—
Not easy to surprise!

How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night,
With just a Clock—
But they could gag the Tick—
And Mice won’t bark—
And so the Walls—don’t tell—
None—will—

A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir—
An Almanac’s aware—
Was it the Mat—winked,
Or a Nervous Star?
The Moon—slides down the stair,
To see who’s there!

There’s plunder—where—
Tankard, or Spoon—
Earring—or Stone—
A Watch—Some Ancient Brooch
To match the Grandmama—
Staid sleeping—there—

Day—rattles—too
Stealth’s—slow—
The Sun has got as far
As the third Sycamore—
Screams Chanticleer
“Who’s there”?

And Echoes—Trains away,
Sneer—”Where”!
While the old Couple, just astir,
Fancy the Sunrise—left the door ajar!

Grand pappy isn't happy when his wife goes to the store

Grandpappy feels ****** when he has to lay down on a floor

Grandpa's has got his wife's back

When the bellowing skiddish make their move

Grandpappy and grand momma

We are two chitlins so cool

As I sat on the backseat of your sister's car,
I knew.
I knew then that it would be the last
Of the unknown that I
Have cherished and loathed
For the longest time.

As I closed my eyes I
Wondered then,
Which one of them was going to fill me in
On what has been going on on
The other side
After all these years?

Father, you left me when I was five
But I couldn't do anything.
You seemed to forget that you had a daughter
But I couldn't do anything.
I searched for you through Friendster
through Facebook
even MySpace
But you wouldn't do anything.
I couldn't do anything.

As I sat on the backseat of your sister's car
About to meet you finally after all these long years
I couldn't do anything.

Had you rejected me
It would have been better
I could have gone crazy and screamed and thrashed and left
But you didn't do that sort of thing.

You hugged me
Along with everyone in the family
Even GrandMama cried as she hugged me
Twas as if the hugs could make up for the years
That went on by
Without you.

I did not grow up on hugs and
Kisses.
I seemed content in the berth of personal space
****** upon me at birth.

But then
Each and everyone of you was a
Hugger. And
I couldn't do anything.

I am not an angry mass of hate
And malevolence.
Gone were the days when
I had wished for your demise.

If anything,
I feared that I wasn't strong enough
For this. But
I couldn't do anything.

She's always been like a tree,
Rooted and strong.
The resemblance
Only grew with her age.
The wrinkles of her face-
Hard and intricate bark;
And her wisdom reaching-
Branches offering shade

Grandmama holds grandpapa's hands tightly
They are weak, they are cold, they are wrinkly...
What an ugly sight to see....
Unbelievable...
All the years that passed
It seems like just yesterday
when ...
The same hands holds hers
and ties her hand with a knot..
on that blissful wedding day
when she wears her diamond wedding ring..
so proud ...so gay...
two hands hold each other
never will let go of one or the other...

The same hands that carries
commitment and duties..
the solid sweet years spent...
The hand that used to be so strong
is numb... is dumb...
paralyses with time...

Salty tears drop on grandpapa's pillow
the silent tears of one faithful grandmama...
as she whispers.. "I LOVE YOU"...
to her snoring husband...
who no longer feels but seeks her existence...

Till death do us part.....

~Sharina~

Look at me.Let my skin tell you a story of pain and suffering, let my eyes give you sight and show you my history. And it's odd to me because as history goes I know of her struggle but not her name, my great grandmama's face, nor my great grandfather stern gaze. My history was ripped from me then handed back in a textbook, like a stolen jewel being given back as a gift from its captors. They try to cultivate and appropriate my culture like it's a shirt that fits them better. You asked me what I'm mixed with because you see my blackness as something to be covered. But my blackness is not ***** that needs a chaser, it is not a ***** car that needs a little whitewashing and a paint job.
You asked me what I'm mixed with so here is my response; I am mixed with melanin and love swlirled into chocolate beauty. I'm mixed with strength and pride, fierce do I roar with the voice of the wise ancestors who gave birth to hope for my grandma, my mommy, and me. I am one part black and ninety nine parts victory. I am not a tragedy of circumstance I am a product of excellence. You ask me if I am mixed because you think I'm to pretty to just be black. Here's a news flash, I am pretty because I'm black! From the kinks of my curls to the dance in my toes, I am designed from the roots of the earth. In tune with its gravitational pull.
Everyone knows the moon only shines in the blackness of night. Stop trying to force an eclipse because they don't last anyway, only burn out to be surrounded by the blackness once more. You asked me what I'm mixed with, allow me the same courtesy. Are you mixed? What are you mixed with? Fear, hate, rage, disgust, or shame? I don't assume any of these for a wise woman once said, " people are diamonds made up of different pressure some in different measures and if you don't know don't judge for it is not your contest." I am on a conquest of love and redemption. I won't blame you for your ancestors but I will hold you to a certain standard.
So before you ask me what I am mixed with, think. Does it even matter?pretty is pretty so don't you dare come at a Nubian goddess cross eyed or tongue-tied, prepared to gain insight of her bloodline. She will shatter all illusion, destroy all thoughts of doubt. She will tell you she is black. She will say it in a song song voice because of the melody ringing in her soul when she makes this known. It will roll off her tongue like honey. For no other words ever tasted so sweet. She is a black queen. Mixed with blood and bones.

never fall in love with a student.
especially the one that teaches herself
Portuguese, who's loved learning
chemistry since the age of thirteen.
but somewhere it made a reaction and
changed what it means, for she to be in
love.

atoms are mostly empty
space, so she really does think
that you have quite an
empty mind. she thinks you'd
take that the wrong way. she
never wants to hurt you, but
once you've made her mad,
she'll angrily yell it towards you
any day.

matter can not be
created or destroyed.
so the bones that support
your flesh, that she loves,
are made of the rust on
her grandmama's car, which hasn't
been driven since her love died.
they are made up of the dust
that formed the planets and the
Milky Way.

history has taught her what
happens when one person tries to
hold the universe in their hand.
she really is against war, but
she wants to, she's going to,
kiss and hold your hands
anyway.

but then she'll remember that
atoms are mostly empty space,
so she will never actually touch you
and you will never actually touch her.
you'll tell her that's sad to say.
to her it means no amount of folds put in
a map will make you two closer. there will
always be a distance. she will become
the guard of that space, and your solitude.
you are complete to her. she is a counterbalance.
she will learn to love the distance and curse it,
just like she hates school, but loves learning.

never fall in love with a student
who loves to learn you.
never fall in love with a student
(me).

Tough to let go of the lessons I learned in the ghetto, my grandma taught me city water is tainted, filled with the heavy metals
Don't let them see you wilted, go out and get a filter
They try to slow your education
Used to watch her thumb through the pages, used to swear by the paper
TVs lie she said, she didn't care for how they talk
The **** they pettle
Pretty foreign dialect from where she came from
She used to say baby, the sweetest juice
Get squeezed from the fruits of your labor
Hate to hear me talk about a rap career
Asked me how one dreams of being caught under a label?
Independence is a strength
Ain't **** to fear
Besides, in her day real poetry was soft on her ears
She'll still go to church on Sundays
Barely a believer
Comes home and will drink you under the table
She might stumble to bed, but she still hold her head high and graceful
I often woke to piano when the bills weren't paid
We'd read sheet music-by the candle light
No excuse for ****** grades
Life is about hope
She won't stand to see that vandalized
She told me she really hate rap
What if it help me feed my kids that she can get down with that

I wouldn't say it was necessarily my decision,
I just let my life play like I was watching it through a vision,
I remember every minute; was never watching for the high lights,
Was waiting for the day id have to ***** to say it's my life,
Instead I scream it's my right, literally living the high life,
Literally living for seconds I'm inhaling, hungry for seconds,
I'll wake up early just because I'm ready for breakfast,
Never had a chain, I lost my head, they call me necklace,
Throwing a hissy,
Fit, starting to wish she,
Would drive home but she just drank all the whiskey,
That ***** gotta be dizzy,
Darian, where you at, starting to wish you were with me,
Wish this bowl wasn't empty,
Wish my friends were more friendly,
I'm so cold,
My souls cold,
You ever thought?,
That you stopped living at 16, smoking *** in apartment complex, parking lots,
Gifted,
So very gifted,
She makes me feel so high much more than ever a spliff did,
I knew her long ago but never knew that it had meant this,
Grandmama as my witness, 6 years later bout to hit it,

Old woman lying warm on her bed,
never knowed, her life would be so good

Old man holding hands of hers,
reminded her about their past years of love and trust

Children standing next to her bed,
looking at her eyes, smiling with raining eyes

Grand children appreciating grandmama's recepe,
and shared with her,their funny old tales

Her eyes searched for someone more,
there stood at the door with a warm smile,her old good bestie...

I dreamt you weren't alive, I didn't mind.
I, I realized you were out of life, out of time,
Of this history from which you have moved on.
Now your ashes in a sacred place, the home you called your peace.
But you know, you're scattered everywhere in my climb.
And maybe this imaginary line will lead me back to you
Is it a circle or does it have four right angles?
Does it remain expanding or can't we cross it?
This universe, are you in it?
Because I wish you were here
And wish I knew where it is that you were
Give me some answers.
Let me know if you're free, unrestricted of a body
This casing it's not built correctly or at least that's what they've got me to believe
Should I be lost without you?
Because everyone's still trying to find a way
And I'm wondering if they're asking their grandmama
Or their papa, or their long lost partner
These same old questions
I wonder if their God understands because mine is nonexistant
He does not listen
Nor does he appear in my dreams
I had a nightmare, and you were there.
You said, don't dream if you don't dream to care
We'll dream anyway, I said, we just have to be forgetful
Because everytime I see you I always remember I love you

Unfurl your hands to me, Grandmama.
Your hands are browned and gnarled,
yet textured by age
as pressed flower petals.

O tell me the story of a soul:
As mysterious and delicate
as the heart of a rose,
And yet as always,
as strong as oak.

Written on paper, handwritten mess
Swirls of cursive, great, fancy lines
Another generation, or maybe two
Won't see the art, can't read it's ink
In three, the best, the paper lost

Maybe a scrap, burned, incinerated
Thrown by a child, young woman's maybe
Remnants of a past, great, great grandmama's fire
Doesn't open the note
A journal unread
It's wasn't written in stone
Only temporary, illusion art

A woman deserves, poet's heart
To write in stone, a love that lasts
Too heavy to throw
Hard to burn
Written in stone

The most precarious of words
Linger and doubt, remove all that
Not written in water, sand or spout
Give to history, not shapeless grave stone
Something to be passed
Proven in stone

Coming from poverty by design, bloodline on the outside
Cold hearted world offers little in the way of placement
Home son, I was told is what you make it
I made a promise to myself early to better my living arrangements
Hostility in the homeland broke the best and huddled the rest
Is it really better?
What was then a haven has become the slums the government doesn't see the point in saving
Displacing everyone, non-discriminatory meaning they **** any and all races
The projects unfinished
Supposed to be stepping stone temporary digs though some never made it out
The image faded out
Cave em in,
Raze it, redevelopment
Resurrection is the aim of betterment
Hear the hatred in my cadences
There goes the neighborhood to micro brews and vape toting middle age
Dousche bags and ironic hat patronage
Grandmama left Brooklyn
Saying **** ain't been the same since the hipsters took it
Where's the history? Look at the back bay nothing ethnic left in the marketplace
Fairy tales are rarely destiny
Not every step leads to promenades some only bring you closer to misery
As for me
I'm no longer in need but the thought of the hunger is not escaping me
My sagest dreams faded in static clouded space
In other words
I'm losing sleep
My conscience is a ******* thief, crooked like the reason my gramma don't play her numbers
Unlucky heard in symphony
We took the scars with open arms with the promise of a fortune she most likely won't live to see
When I bought my humble home and hung a diploma carefully it meant more than blood
We sweat no tears, expectations fallen over the past years
I promised
It's all open pastures if we just make it past here

A Little ******* a Wagon Seat

Of her deep thriftiness, Grandmama Hall
Saved every button that passed through her hands
And banked them in a large glass jar from which
She could withdraw an investment in clothing:

New dresses cut and sewn from bolts of cloth
(The styles from 1900 served just fine)
From Mixson’s Store in town, and buttons for all
From her accumulated waste-not, want-not

Wisdom and skill, and girlhood memories
Of when she came to Texas in a covered wagon

be soft they say
find the wool
knit by your grandmama
and remember its caress
warm across your infant skin
why do my calloused palms
avoid the embrace of
pillowing knit blankets
when I only sleep
in beds of collected rock