Winter

Into wild winters we rode like mad men––

Coats pinned back,

Wool tucked into leather boots,

Scarves wrapped around stiff necks. 

In those days, we prayed for our horses and prayed against the wind.

We didn’t dream.

At least, not in the way of children.

Nay, we simply hoped for the next meal,

Looked forward to every fire

and when the frost numbed our senses, cherished every feeling––

The wind that cut through the trees and

Even the soreness between our thighs from hard rides along westward trails.

And every morning we rose with the sun.

We drank our coffee black as we raised a tribute to the ash from which we came.

Not lost on us was the miracle that we made it through the night.

And when we had put out the fire and gathered our belongings, we mounted our horses.

Into the wild we rode again.

The Girl from Palestine

She had a softness to her.

The girl from Palestine. 

Everything was soft ––

from her moss green eyes and the way they listened

to her rose pink lips and the way they pulled drags of cigarette smoke in a grey goodbye morning. 

From her copper hair and the way it tumbled in curls down the right side of her face,

to the way she sat next to me on the curb ––  close, warm –– wrapped in foreign cotton. 

And there was a gentleness in her voice when she spoke of home. A hard place. But home nonetheless.

For she believed that one day there would be a softness in the world ––

After the fire and the fights and the revolution ––

after she got done changing it. 

To My Sister

My sister,

You are a rose,

And today I wish you wet petals.

I hope the rain falls, rests delicately upon your skin ––

scarlet in a sea of grey.

That it glistens and adorns, but ever so subtly for inherent is your loveliness.

For when that happens, I will stop. And I will feel the same rain

And I will notice

How the water softens you in a misty morning stillness

While the world passes by

Too in love with avoiding the waters

To see your beauty. 

And when the rains have slipped from your petals––

As effortlessly as you are beautiful––

I pray you drink as deeply as you are rooted. 

My Daddy Was a Jazz Man

My daddy was a jazz man.

I remember old discs, scratched and worn. Soothing as their melodies and progressions massaged the walls of our home.

I remember jazz concerts, father son moments, me falling asleep during the final set before I was grown.

Dark and eloquent. His hands. The concert hall. Soothing like morning coffee.

Him nodding to the rhythm, understanding what I had yet to appreciate.

As a daddy, I will be a jazz man.

Life moving fast, deep breaths of quarter notes calming me, reminding me of the slip into a peaceful sleep, father son moments before I was grown.

Life moving fast, chords and progressions lulling my boy to sleep as I hold him.

Dark and eloquent. My hands. The concert hall. Soothing like morning coffee.

I will nod to the rhythm. Fatherhood. Appreciating what I have yet to understand.

Fire

What will we be? 

You and I.

Our fire?

In spark and kindling we’ll start.

Unbridled chemical heat. 

But how will we end, other than certain?

Will we be an explosion? 

Brilliant and brief.

Violent and total ––

Leaving nothing but pieces of pieces to be washed away in a late September rain?

Perhaps a candle?

Subtle and slow.

Agonizing and dull ––

Melting steadily into a soft flicker only to be extinguished by a cold whisper in a familiar room?

Whatever the end, I will watch at a distance.

Breathing in the smoke. 

Watching the embers glow.

And as I feel the warmth of a dying light,

That is what I hope I will remember about our fire.

PAVEMENT

A poem for Freddie & Trayvon & Eric & Tamir & Philando & Michael & Terrence & Jordan & men that look like me.

Get up. Get up.

Why are you here?

Did you deserve it?

Perhaps you just longed to be with someone who understood you –

Understood what it was like to be cracked and worn, battle lines drawn down your back.

I can feel your heart beat slow.

Breath desperate on my cheek.

Blood sticky and crimson.

The only comfort I have to offer is the warmth of my skin,

Which I hope reminds you of your mother holding you as a child

And of summer days, innocent in the front yard with your brothers dreaming American dreams of refuge inside white picket fences.

I can feel your tears

And I wish I could promise they wouldn’t be in vain—

That they would fall and that from them trees would grow and provide shade and color and sweetness to your children.

But alas. I am just pavement.

And you are just a man.

And your tears are just salt.

There is no magic to be found here.  

Get up.

Black + White

I want to love you black and white.

No shadows or shades of grey.

Yes, I will always love you.

No, I will never leave you.

Yes, I mean it.

No, don’t apologize for asking.

And I’ll go

On and on

Today and tomorrow

Until your grey fades to black

And your black gives way to white.

Forever.

No more shadows, my dear.

EYES

I could have stared into her eyes forever.

Not because of their color 

Or even the way they flickered

When sparks rose from the bonfire in her chest. 

But because of how they viewed the world. 

They saw light in the shadows and beauty in the light 

and they saw me for who I was. 

They chose not to look away. 

The Final Performance

The leaves in the fall die the most beautiful death

Burn bright with fury as they breathe their last breath

Hues of orange, shades of red, and distinctions of gold

A performance made for the ole Opry as the world grows cold.

I wonder if it’s an appropriate ending to the life that they’ve lived

If our admiration is enough ovation for the joy that they give

If they recognize the splendor of their final curtain call

Or if the end came too quickly and they’re left feeling small.

The leaves in the fall die the most beautiful death

Dancing and smiling with the time they have left

They pirouette to the ground as if the dripping of paint

And ease into a peace saved for the most sanctified saints.

I wonder if it’s an appropriate ending to the life that they’ve lived

If their colors are a revelation of secrets they’ve hid

If they’re happier now than the day they begun

As stained glass windows reflecting light of the sun.

The leaves in the fall die the most beautiful death

Burn bright with fury as they breathe their last breath

A life lived well and they have the smile to show it

A performance envied by the most decorated poet.

To the Girl in the Corner Crying

Little girl,

Why do you cry? 

What have you lost?

I don’t know you 

But I do know that all tears are made of the same thing––

The loss of

Love

A piece of ourselves

Some reality we hold dear

The belief that everything will be okay… is okay.

I too know these tears. I too have lost. 

I too have been the girl in the corner crying.

I can’t return it. Whatever it is.

But I will cry with you. 

I lose with you. 

I will sit here in this corner until we have cried the last tear 

and lost the last loss.

Until you find that you are not alone.

Note to Self

Be gentle on yourself.

When you find yourself in the quiet moments

Mind drifting

thinking about her

Eyes wandering

staring at the photo of her standing next to the water,

Don’t beat yourself up. 

The world does that enough.  

Please. Give yourself grace.

For you are just a boy made of dust who misses a girl.

There is no crime in that. 

Identity

She used to tell me to write.

You have a gift, she said.

So I would write.

I would write to make her happy.

To see the way she would come alive 

when my words would bring daybreak to her sandstorm eyes.

And in those moments, I was most me.

Lover.

Creator.

Made in the image of.

Never was I more myself.

Postcard

When you’re gone, don’t send me a postcard.

Send me a note you scribbled on the back of a napkin

in a cafe

with a pen you borrowed from a stranger 

who didn’t speak your language

because you thought of me and couldn’t wait to tell me how much you wished I was there. 

May I?

May I speak?

Damned if I do

Damned if I don’t

Damned if I sit

Or let words sit in my bones.

May I bear arms?

In danger if I do

In danger if I don’t

In danger if it’s legal

No matter if it’s hidden or it’s shown.

May I be protected from unreasonable search and seizure?

We’ll search if you say yes

We’ll find a way if you say no

That broken tail light

Is about to send you to the hole.

May I have due process?

We’ll shoot if you comply

We’ll shoot if you don’t

Judge, jury, executioner

Us against you, and you’re alone.

May I have a trial by jury?

It won’t matter if you do

It won’t matter if you don’t

The verdict will be the same

When democracy sits on a throne.

May I be a free man?

We’ll tell you the answer is yes

Then introduce you to Jim Crow

You’re an American man

But America is not your home.

May I vote?

Damned if I do

Damned if I don’t

This country is failing me

If these rights are not my own.