with each word
i write
i am undoing
you from
my heart
i am undoing
your lips
from mine
your hand
from mine
i am undoing
your power
over me

with each word
i write
i am undoing
you from
my heart
i am undoing
your lips
from mine
your hand
from mine
i am undoing
your power
over me
she is a sad
replacement
for the woman
you lost
the woman
you allowed
to leave
because
you were
never
man enough
to hold
i had too much
shine
for you not
to want
to take
a piece
it’s a shame
you continue
to take it
once you
are gone
always wanting
what you want
but what about
what I want?
not your problem
anymore, right?
you leave
leave and go
then come back
and take
want to stay
friends for you
when it suits
you
leave and have
me too
what kind
of privilege
is that?
the hurt
will pass
i no longer
hold it close
i let it go
with softness
and patience
and love
If I allowed curiosity and love to seep through the wounds, I wouldn’t be here now at the page trying to make sense of it.
A black girl walks through the meadow, enters the dark woods and forfeits her life. And I can’t but think if she was white …
Trust. Always difficult for me to hold, like light on burnt leaves. Like the coming of winter any day now.
The race talk, an accumulation of cautionary tales told through time, she, with earth in her voice, filled the void of rage with what was right for her soul. Joy.
After Ada Limon
On the black wet branches of a sycamore, grief waits for me with the last few clinging burnt umber leaves.
Rain, black blankets, wind-whipped worm into the scarred wounds of me. Her great absence present.
Waiting for the shift, in fall, like stinging nettles’ persistence call, being still is vulnerable and exposed.
Yet suffering is all around when I choose to be part of the world. Privilege I acknowledge and push against.
All this will pass. Time playing through space. Illinear like this journey of grief on the black wet branches of a sycamore tree.
As I pull into the roadside drenched in memory, I practice breathing. Cycle through the minutes trying to gain ground.
She was silence behind her smiles. Behind her ample flesh. I burnt down our bonds because she dropped before her time.
I’ve too much fire to ever accept her truth. Too much sense to feel the moon held her fullness.
Late into the night standing by the window, she waited for my return. Without fail. I took her love and joy without a backward glance.
I am dark. Too dark. But meaning comes with the light. My own light, learning to shine from the inside out.
I wish she had her chance. I take her picture sitting in the grass amongst the trees and seal it into memory.
The earth she could not give me. She didn’t know how as she laughed her soul into existence.
I am red. All of it. And not at all. But with eyes wide open, body claiming space daily, I listen to her song and bathe in the moonlight.