Already Sleeping

Daughter,
I am jealous
Of your beating heart
For you say I have none
And that is why I am awake
Standing at the foot of your bed
And you are already sleeping
Fighting me in your dreams
Your heartbeat keeps me awake
At night
It pounds, gently until the darkness
Shakes with it
And I watch you, jealous
My old feet, cold on your mahogany floor,
Jealous
Because you sleep at night
Without knowing that I have none
Because I gave it away, for you.


This poem is in Volume 49, Edition 1 of the
University of Puget Sound Crosscurrents Literary Review.
*All Rights Reserved*

Collateral

Not a father, but a dad.
I think sometimes
You take this act of charity too seriously.
Maybe this bastard child
Would rather be
A bastard child
Than remain the object of a love that hurts:
Unconditional, unwarranted…
Unwanted?
Your kind of love,
Is the catalyst for war
Because no one can change
My blood into yours.
This war makes a casing out of your heart
And I your only collateral.
Your arms warm and open for always,
I come weeping to them,
Before the smoke has cleared.


*This is my poetry. Please do not copy the text, reuse it or plagiarize. Thanks!

Three Generations of Soul Food

Grandaddy’s on the porch,
chewin’ tobacco in front of little cousin Eva,
talkin’ ‘bout old ways to work and old ways to make things and old ways to raise things.

Big Ma’s in the kitchen,
bakin’ remedies and fryin’ corncakes with the lard
from yesterday’s bacon.

Pa’s in the study,
sweatin’ hard-earned figures onto coffee-stained pages,
sweatin’ food into our bellies.

Mama’s in the garden
Tearin’ at ‘bama’s red soil,
So that tomorrow we can have some collards with our chops.

And I am listening,
To wet tobacco hit dry earth,
To hot grease sizzle in a 60-year-old cast iron pan,
To money put food on the table,
To the rip of root from soil,

And my spirit grows with it.


*This is my poetry. Please do not copy the text, reuse it or plagiarize. Thanks!