Adventures in 26 - 28/30 - the look. i'm doing my best edition

26 .

middle school students
are a study in chaos
entropy revealed

27.

i have this tendency of seeing beauty
where other folks see mistakes
like the rubble of almost floating
near a lighthouse after a storm
and i have always said that you
are the most beautiful i've ever seen
which is warning sign enough
for anyone paying attention
so tell me what my firsts are writing
at dawn when the moon is still full in the sky
my heart is a fault line on the brink of crumble
and i tire
of making things pretty

28.

he  may be as cute
as he already believs
when his voice changes

Adventures in 25/30 - Late Edition

Kadiatou Diallo to Sybrina Fulton

because they do not know the difference between party and protest
do not begrudge them this time
this cause
they are making of your catastrophe
is the new fad with which they entertain themselves
see how informed they are
how aware
how much passion spills over in their blood
i bet a few poets have uncapped their pens for him
to add to their hoodies
and their one dollar teas
through all of this
keep your cool
put a flame beneath the stone of your eyes
whenever you step outside of your door
stand straight-backed
and tight-lipped
like there is a new steel to the spine of you
do not measure the worth of these happenings with anything you hear in the press
this is festival
the next big thing
a reality show they are proud to watch
the names of black men like sitcoms on the brink of cancellation
just wait
they will soon change the channel
see the remote already in their hands
after they have pulled the meme from him
they will hand back a mangled memory
hold it close
crumble away the pieces you know cannot be truth
use the dust of it to dampen the flame in your stomach
melt into the arms of the folk you have left
and remember him
the way you did before he was a symbol
or a martyr
or a justice undone
now that they are done with him
you may grieve for your son

Adventures in 24/30 - Late Edition

the skyline around here is a water tower
and a cross affixed to a baptist church
it is gentle pink kissed to lavender
and swirl of cottonseed still in the air
it does not apologize for the haze of starlight
and moon fastened bright against the sky
painting the earth a shade of blue
and we rest here
which is to say languid
that is a refusal to quicken our pace here
we are front porch until dusk
and lemonade
and we know your mother's maiden name
we master the rhythm of slow drag
the same time we put a drawl in our speech
and we grow here
like sunflowers
on borrowed time and tobacco
watching the seasons change in the clay
the scent of willows bowed low in the air
and a cool breeze on a warm day
are bustle enough when we understand
this miracle of moving slow

Adventures in 23/30

when i tell them that tupac is really dead
it is as though i have conjured some secret alchemy
words like "hologram"
are the tome of the antichrist
and i am of something unholy
they remind me the illuminati is more powerful than me
they draw pyramids on print-outs of tupac lyrics
they have no need for the nonsense i will teach them from my books
this is the new world
their savior is alive

Adventures in 22/30

"Sometimes a demonstration is better than an answer"
                                           ~J.C. McClurkin

even children understand show&tell
to be an inseparable pairing
there is no interest in only the noun of things
and this is how i love
like a hurricane
like sudden
powerful
and outward in all directions
to travel any distance
to make a business of impression
and i have no use
for language when it comes with no display
what good is a love
that is merely a word

Adventures in 21/30

when there is nothing on the radio
i pretend i am invincible
press my foot to the gas pedal
and long for a cigarette

i improvise poems
that begin 'turn my swag up'
to the top of the crescent moon
hung in my voice box

my stomach is a country
of two-tongued people
making a dance
of the music in my lungs

my love is the valley
they testify to crossing
when other folks ask them
why the heartbeat won't stop

i rock huge sunglasses
even if its dark out
and dare other drivers
to look more than twice

i say:

"i have battled more addictions
than you have ridden miles on this highway
and this is how i celebrate
the still being alive"

Adventures in 20/30 - the I promise I wrote this yesterday edition

if that's what you need
fine. I'll tell you I love you
whatever. why not

Adventures in 19/30 - Late Edition

the days i pretend that i don't hate you
are days that i do hate myself
i do not miss the way we danced
at twilight around the truth
i heard a love song the other day
pretended it reminded me of you
wished that there was something pleasant
for me to remember us by
instead of all this heartache

Adventures in 18/30 - Late Edition

after you show her the venom in a man
how it curdles at the slightest offense
how the lip and snarl and teeth and thrust
is thy byproduct of something masculine
tell her
what she must do to appease it
what sacrifices she must make
what fear must linger at the base of her throat
like a choir perched ready to scream
tell her
not walk by herself at night
not on campus or to the store
not even the parking lot of her church
can be sanctified against happenings such as these
teach her
to carry her drink at parties
to make a flirtation of keeping it in her eyeline
tell her [tell her]
about that one time
you were out with your friends
and there was that girl
who put her cup down
explain how they never found out who did it
even though everyone knows his name
teach her
to dress like a lady
remind her they still may call her a whore
that a sundress is tantamount to invitation
more risque and they'll say she's asking for it
tell her
that every two minutes
someone yells "fire"
while they scream and punch and claw and kick
hoping that something like help will appear
and if no help comes
if no help comes
tell her
she must lay still
make sure she knows this
like the phone number and address she learned when she was five

even though none of this matters
not unless you also tell him
no means no
every time

Adventures in 17/30

because the sky around here
is carolina blue
we don't say things like fan
we understand everything true about ourselves
can be said by a team
or t-shirt
we pledge our allegiances early
we love here like religion

Adventures in 16/30 - Late Edition

i know a thing or two
about sweat and ache
and the fever pitch
of a heart newly broken
a dance of pillow
and teeth and tears
and why did i go all in
in the first place
a thunderbolt of want
and want and want
and i miss you
no matter who breaks my heart

Adventures in 15/30

insert
metaphor
here

Adventures in 14/30

freedom is the day
you trust yourself with razor
solely for shaving

Adventures in 13/30

as i peel back the heavy of cover and copyright
i remind myself
i am no fool

i see each of us
young, impressionable
gasping for breath
knowing this is what it means to be brown and woman
to be poet and protest
and somehow whole
to see the world in image and metaphor
and refuse to apologize for it

i wonder what still can be taught
what phrase will resonate like the holy of repetition
what saying will i secretly live by
or write by
still at 3am
caught up in the soundless grip of white space

it seems silly to say i am proud of you
when what i mean is i'm proud of me
to not be that girl at the edge of poet row
not the same
not anymore
i know something of myself now
know something of the poet i still plan to be
i trust that when the time comes
the arena can be left to me

Adventures in 12/30

your name is the answer to every question
most folks are embarrassed to ask
it's something like muscle memory
on a rainy afternoon
between march and mid july
it is the song stuck
near my subconscious self
on repeat
without a clear picture of the words
your name is the star north of orion's belt
so i can always find my way home

Adventures in 11/30 - Late Edition

i draw a stick figure on a coordinate plane
as a joke in my math class
my students say
it's christ on the cross

a few break into chorus
a few lift their hands
one boy giggles and shakes his head

"that's not jesus and a cross
it's a stripper and a pole"

the few lost in praise
drop their hands
and agree

this is how the world breaks my heart

Adventures in 10/30

memory
will change the shape of a room
fade colors
fray edges of lines
it will make 64 west a picturesque highway
moments after a major rock slide
it will stand you up
on a college campus in kentucky
with no shoes or cash
but still warm and full
it will be the smile tucked under your tongue
to camouflage the taste of what actually was
it will say 'love'
over and over
until you forget desperate
and longing
and lust

memory
will be for you amnesia
remind you
of the peace in forgetting

Adventures in 9/30

i imagine our guardian angels trade war stories while we sleep
about the cuts and scrapes we still collect despite their best intentions
on most days
these count as black marks against their records
on others
just the necessary pain along the way

i imagine my angel wants to speak face to face
about the things he's had to watch me do to myself
and i'll tell him
stupid and young are great reasons
to set a few ping pong balls on fire
or drive headlong to a wall of brick
while someone screams to turn
and he'll answer
something like suicidal
and i'll say
hey baby, not on your watch
then he'll get back to the business of guiding me along this life

i imagine our guardian angels know the exact moment we will die
so that no one will be unlucky enough to have a nervous angel
so when we slam on brakes at we think is the last second
they just laugh
at our thinking this was actually our time

because on that day
that day i imagine the guarding would be a bit different
like an urgent whisper to say "i love you"
as much as you could
to count the wind as precious
each time it filled your lungs
to put everything on the line
because everything is all there was
to thank your guardian angel
for carrying you home

Adventures in 8/30

beautiful brown boy
trades rainbow flavored candy
for blood on the street

Adventures in 7/30

days like today
are for whiskey
or tequila
razor blades
goodbye notes
a walk back to old vices

instead
i drink hot tea
reading novels by nightlight
thanking god for the boring
you have put in me

Adventures in 6/30

Quick disclaimer: This poem is by no means finished. But it is my contribution to the goings on of this good Friday
christ
what have you done to your hands?

the same gentle of finger and bone
that kneaded the clay for a blind man's sight
broke bread in mercy to feed the poor
of a city gone hungry for truth
pressed palm to feet to wipe the dust
of a wayward disciple's journey home
when joseph was teaching you the tools of his trade
did you poke at your skin for calvary practice
did you ponder improvements
lord
for the design of cross
did the nails keep you up at night
to die is one thing
to sacrifice another
but to give yourself up
as meat for the dog
to be torn to the marrow
and hung on a tree

they say
crucifixion is the most painful way to die
yet we
still choose the most ungrateful ways to live
do you ever regret that the cost of redemption
feels to us like little more than scar tissue

sometimes i wonder
how could you be all-knowing
and still give yourself for a people like this
so much human
consumed in this body of death
so much broken
and wounded
and still
lord
your hands

of miracle flesh and tendon
trapped by the rust of nail and blood
what love to keep you hanging
what sacrifice for us

Adventures in 5/30

she says
       "write a poem about how there's crack in my cupcakes"
i say
       "but there's nothing poetic about crack"
she says
       "does it have to be literal crack?"
i chuckle
she says
       "can you do metaphoric crack?"
i ask
       "have you ever seen a literal crackhead?
        not like the ones people joke about
        in stand-up routines?"
she asks
       "have you?"

i think about the twitch in a brown girl's arm
as she loiters around a bus stop
she is more coal than cocoa this days
more aftershock
than quake

she says
       "maybe we should stop joking
        about there being crack in the cupcakes"

     

Adventures in 4/30

here now a body
a testament of light and sound
laid warm in a field like dandelion june
a gift of fingers an feet and eyes
that open and blink and suppose
a miracle of bone and blood and flesh
made perfect and small
like a comet in flight
or a kiss goodbye
made precious even still
a blessing made cursed
and unwanted

see now that body
an epitaph on a woman's heart
laid in waste like a chemical mass
a bio hazard
a disposal thing
more scar tissue than alive
then lifeless

not everything natural can be recycled
not all stains come out in the wash
the heart will carry the ghost of memory
long after a body is disposed of

hear now the echo
witness the nightmares
navigate the space between rock and hard place

see now a body
crouched in prayer position
laid prostrate before whatever god still hears
creating a kind of language
that equates mother
with murder
and mistake

seeking a place where a body is just a body
not what if
or what could have been
something made perfect and small
like a good night's sleep
or a miracle
like forgiveness

Adventures in 3/30

in the church where i grew up
there is a boy who carries a man bag
who knows the difference
between ascots and cravats
who wears plaid suits
with the pants too tight

all of the deacons shake their heads
whenever he comes to prayer
and he comes to prayer every week
he is usually the topic of conversation
just before the giggles go silent
then the silence cut
by the serrated edge of the question
"so is he?
         or isn't he?
                does anybody know?"

he does a perfect job
of clapping along
when the whole church erupts in praise
but sometimes he sits on the back row
sometimes he pulls too much at his tie
sometimes when he prays he reminds me of hannah
always filled with tears
and often no words
i think he has stopped believing
that our god
is a god of love

Adventures in 2/30

no one may ever understand
how the words always come back to you
it's a tricky dichotomy
of love and regret
of false starts
and good intentions

the first poem i wrote
was meant to say goodbye
but came out
something like "im sorry"

the next
a ramble of reasons to stay
i never allowed myself to finish

there is a poem for you
on the fabric of a bus seat
somewhere in northern virginia
it is a fervent promise
to never break any promises again

on napkins
in 16 resteraunts
the first line was "i still love you"
but the second
still a secret at the bottom
of 16 garbage bins

the space
between the front of my journal
and the crack in its gentle spine
is a ping pong match
between past and future
between what is true
and a seductive lie

give me pens
there is another poem
still buried beneath all this surface
give me pens
i still need to write a poem for you

Adventures in 1/30

he said

       if you don’t quit smoking, you will die
like it was a fact
like there was no leeway
like the next drag
like the very next drag of my cigarette
would be the last thing i ever did on this earth
his friendly demeanor like dust in the ashtray
his white coat like a last-chance warning

       hear me
he said

       you can quit, or you can die

that day i bought a fresh pack of cigarettes
placed it on the nightstand with the birth control and inhaler
here is how i played russian roulette with myself

sometimes i did not use condoms
other times i was still buzzed when i drove
most recent i placed a flame 3 inches from my face
and breathed slow
the savor of nicotine and suicide
like a bullet in the chamber
with a mighty slow spin
and something seductive in the pull

there is still a pack of parliaments
on the bookshelf
in my bedroom
in case i ever get trigger happy
eager to watch the world end in a puff of smoke