Middle Passage, after Countee Cullen's "Middle Passage"

It said “Go back to Africa” in red ink

On the way to her shores my feet tangle

And that night I did.

in scum-covered shackles on the ocean floor. 

I did after throwing the red brick back out through the shards

In languages I have never heard

And wiped my daddy’s bloody head

pale ghosts in the air howl on hovering phantom rigs,

obscuring my Polaris.

And put out the flames on our lawn

Coiling rope, alive and writhing fades at her brink. 

And stopped baby brother from crying

Foam in the surf wraps around my ankles.

And told Big Ma to stop screaming

The multitude of tribes before me stand.

In their faces nothing my own and

everything my own.

In my face, all of Africa.

and pulled the rough twinning from the tree…

In French and English, German,

they each take their turn,

and tell me to go home.

I did.

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

*Artwork by Tom Feelings (May 19, 1933 - August 25, 2003)

Donuts at Balboa Street Laundry

On Sundays we walk to the Laundromat
And you buy me melting glazed donuts
and milk with a straw to keep me calm
while I sit on my favorite beige dryer
bouncing my jelly sandals against the vibrating metal.

While you crouch in the corner with your nursing books
and vacantly rub your lashes,
wishing that the sound of the dryer
were only a whir in the basement
and that you could brush the bangs from my eyes
while we eat donuts together at the kitchen table,

I wish that daddy could’ve seen how pretty you are with rainbow lint in your hair,
and that the warmth at my bottom never goes away
and that you never forget how to kiss the crusted sugar on my lips.




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

Ivory, after WC Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow"

So much depends upon
The feeders and planters and givers that sleep on
Long grains that stood filtering blue harvest light
Onto fesue and shed
Wheat and barley and seed in a trough;
Roosters that start rural ritual from hazy dawn,
White hens' smooth ovals of ivory and brown
Cracked for sustenance
Or treasured for the sake of dependence.




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

Eleven Shades of a Black Girl

Against the heated sands of a summer beach,
She is bronze.
And in the shade of a summer tree,
She is cinnamon.
With cherry blossoms in her midnight hair,
She is honey.
And with roses in her caramel palms,
She is chocolate.
When the falling leaves of autumn lay against her legs,
She is almond butter.
And by the glowing blaze of a winter fire,
She is coffee.
By the light of morning's rays,
She is brown sugar.
And by the pale moonlight of night,
She shines toffee.
And when the moon is new,
Her silhouette is black
Against the radiant stars.




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

Building the Line

“Chain ten more” nanny says as we sit,

And I watch as her hands
single crochet, double, treble, popcorn and
Cluster stitch lifeless yarn into lustrous intricate design.
Watching is part of the process, as did my aunts
And so mother as well.
We are learning to grow with her on our shoulders.
Small, damp fingers fumbling with sticky wool
Until they move steady and the string flows like water through my palms.
When I have one-hundred chains
I teach cousin how to chain
And we sit quietly as time grows on
She, watching my hands
I, watching nanny’s hands
As we slowly build her up.



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

Isabel, Daughter of Abra

The space in time won’t thwart your aging cries,
Her flesh, like fire, it seemed a sin to hold.
And though your hearth in embers ever dies,
Your babe remained unguarded in the cold.

Your daughter’s cinders grew and flamed in anger,
Forever veiling frost too chill to bear.
And now to her you will remain a stranger,
Begging He to spare her in your prayers.

He says you must see Him before your child,
So her His way you showed as best you could.
But her soul remained as dang’rous as the Wild,
So you to her will stay misunderstood.

His path you step to enlighten all mankind,
The one you cherish most forever blind.


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

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*