After burn

It's been awhile since I wrote about our house fire in July 07, but it's always therapeutic and my thoughts about it are still evolving.

AFTER BURN
There is nothing left here,
just the shambles
of our past life together

heaps of blackened pictures and
memories of a
past that's better off forgotten.

We paint each other's faces
with the soot
and no longer recognize ourselves.

Extra sugar, please

Coffee is an acquired taste
sort of bittersweet
like a long kiss goodbye

Sweet sorrow

Whenever you leave, a part
of my heart
always goes along with you

A grand love

For Egypt, for my LGBTQ friends, for my child, and for everyone I've ever loved . . .

A thousand years from now
our children's children's children

will see how we loved each other

A thousand years from now

they will see how we fought

for the right to love each other

A thousand years from now

they will remember how we

loved in the face of such fights

Face to face

The mirror does not lie
does not reveal
my story

The lie does not reveal
does not mirror
my story

My story
does not mirror
does not reveal the lie

My story
does not reveal
does not lie in the mirror

A history

In honor of Black History Month


The twisted branches of my
family tree she
told me on her knee

The twisted tales of my
Uncle and Auntie
Lee she helped me see

The twisted kin from my
past in Tennessee
They follow me, forever free

He got it all

Johnny prayed every night.
He prayed that dad would
fall down drunk and that
mom would get some sleep.
He prayed that bruises would
heal and that the war within
his home would end.

Johnny's dad prayed too.
He prayed that god would
damn him and give him some
peace and quiet for once.
He prayed that his wife would
stop nagging and grow some brains.
She left him the next morning.

Safekeeping

She stored her secrets
in a locket that she wore
around her neck for all to see,
but never to touch

The Rub

Like a handful of sawdust
abrasive words are
shaved, scattered, and finally lost

Sometimes

"we are each the love of someone's life"

Sometimes he smiled
shyly sneaking glances
from across the classroom

Sometimes he slipped
his hand into hers as they
walked through the hallways

Sometimes he dreamed
of waiting for her at the
end of a church aisle

Sometimes he laid
his head on her lap and wished
she didn't have to go

The Washboard

Her knuckles were raw.
She'd been stooping over the
basin scrubbing his clothes
for hours.

Her mind was numb,
lost in the abrasive thump thump
thump of blood-soaked cotton on
the washboard.

With a handful of soap and
a tub full of suds, she scrubbed
her soul and washed away
the loss.