black and white (and blue)

bwb2
we gawk at the wonder of
rainbows
absolutely effusive about
multicolored billboards and tie die t-shirts and the largest
jelly bean
assortment
but when it comes to the flesh and the
bone
it’s goes black and white
(and blue)
the seed of our entire race
yanked
from its continent
dragged upon a sea
nose pressed into another ground to
sow
for the exclusive good of
the man
this is not history
this is a rumbling present
fat pale thumbs sealing lips with less and less success
a deep undeniable bellow
that bleeds out around the bodies forced
prostrate
wrists raw
for what must be the last
time

mothering (a wild hair)

Untitled-1

the first meal
its a start
three layers of cereal
two milks
a forced mirage
those sedimentary layers

twirl one
twirl two
a tress whirled back
winds us into
place

shower
dress
put off the drawer and closet avalanches
make
a contribution to the liberation of
caps lids tops
some moving to alternate universes for good
celebrated heads of state

twirl one
twirl two

fly through
the pickups dropoffs
and seasonal shuttles with
clockwork tardiness
plant vociferous kisses
squeal
plow over a ramp on a big wheel
smear peanut butter
on evenly divided rounds of banana

twirl one
twirl two

try on professional headgear
feeling silly in the mirror
let the record player in the kitchen
play subliminal cabaret debuts around
my raucous head

twirl one
twirl two
in time
but in tune?

a day is not complete if not firmly
punctuated
joust with a doorjamb eyebrow butterflied
shut
let loose the unruly locks
feel them
falling
to sleep upon
my swollen
face

portrait of a purple heart

corazon

a hoodie quietly polishes the pugilist
those rare moments she isn’t
leaping
out of her chest for
another round of
beating

dog years of bad blood to filter through and
they show their breathtakingly
deep
darkness
on this petite fist
the model contender

by now the combinations of neglect
and reproach
flow together seamlessly
days forgotten in train stations
relentless hygiene inspections
a half burial in the dirt
by a half brother
her body’s face desecrated
and
rubbed
out

all has led to this
clockwork
return of rights
and lefts
a will greater than
the life
given

she (who is kept in the dark)

oscuridad3

for a moment she
is with you again
incendiary
her waist chained to a factory fence
or on the old household stairway
the walls endless
with prairies and clear skies flowing
from her pursed fingertips
and those legs
oh those lithe eels
slipping into lake water
every dive an enviable
homecoming
but you walk on
(eyes closed heart stumbling)
for other silken wisps of before
they cling lovingly to your
outstretched arms
in the dark
well of course
that was where she would go
when during the day the fog
had begun to hang low between her ears
she would wander late
-to your father
her husband’s
dismay-
to kneel
before the council of pots and pans
their copper voices casting
all about the kitchen
a clarity she had
misplaced
momma
i’m sorry but
i only remember
on the last visit
i preferred staring at the bruises staining her wrists
over the vacuity clawing at her face
and especially over that single
flash
of lucidity in her eyes
its derisory prodding
at the very foundation of our
grief
with that said
i know she
is the shadow that joins the light
just so
to frame your earnestly upturned
lips
do you see her
in mine
as i smile in return?

At the Back of Our Minds

florpalabras

Their machetes smile
at the mere notion
of our juicy letters and numbers rotting
alongside the fallen fruit.
And it is true
that our brilliant skin has been dulled by clumsy blues,
greens, violets,
reds;
that our desks,
when we clutched them,
they hunkered down on their anchored legs
but had no hands to keep us there…
No matter.
We are over and above it,
at the back of our minds,
all of us using our library voices,
running our fingers over the deep lines in the bark,
reading them all the way up
to the top of the canopy,
into the sky,
and beyond.

-For the 219 Nigerian schoolgirls
abducted in April 14 of 2014 and held deep in the jungle by Boko Haram
until purportedly being forced into marriage or sold as slaves.

swept away

pie

all those years

bowing

under the yoke

swallowing spoonfuls of sand tilled

by the feet of predecessors in the queue

i wonder

how many more of my screams

would have discreetly ground themselves down to

background static

(around and

around the grooves of the same old jingles)

had you not stepped in

speaking a language so foreign

i knew for once it was meant for me

words

hurled from the sky

so brimming

and out of the blue

that when I opened my eyes again

the ground shone

all those tracks

now swept

away

-for mike-