to the dancer
how you carry burdens and release them
with the curve of a spine
and render deliverance with the
point of a finger, the flick of a hand
how you bare it all on the stage
leaving us breathless and free
to the dancer we say thank you
thank you for letting God use you
as an instrument of freedom
and for the price you’ve paid in
blood, sweat, tears, and pain
we stand in applause and promise
that none of it is in vain
soul song (rebirth)
yearning to return to the earth
setting hearts on fire till the very
smoke of you reaches the sky
working flesh to bone and dust till
the ashes blow away with the wind
to settle in the crevices of the mother’s skin
secretly praying that the earth destroys you
so that it can give birth to you all over again
good conversation
From the outside looking in, our conversations must sound like the inside of a sea shell, and we must look weird standing here with our tongues dripping with water and ocean waves of truth, as the depths in me calls out to the depths in you. Both of us sinking deeper and deeper with every word, slowly drowning in the deep end as the tides and currents of tongues continue to pull us under. Who knew that drowning could be so freeing, that forgetting how to breathe could feel so good, for there’s never enough time to catch our breath because in even our silences the depth is understood.
fight
down in the dungeon
surrounded in darkness, be
not consumed by it
fountain of youth
the merry-go-rounds
and joys of youth are found here
in this place with you
listen
I can hear the sweet jazz in your voice
the John Coltrane in your “hello”
the Charlie Parker in you “how do you do”
it sways me everytime you speak, I just
wish that you could hear it too
To Anita by Sonia Sanchez
high/yellow/black/girl
walken like the sun u be.
move on even higher.
those who
laugh at yo/color
have not moved
to the blackness we be about
cuz as Curtis Mayfield be sayen
we people be darker than blue
and quite a few
of us be yellow
all soul/shades of
blackness.
yeah. high/yellow/black/girl
walk yo/black/song
cuz some of us
be hearen yo/sweet/music.
The American Dream
your arms are a white picket fence around me
as you hold me and kiss me on the forehead
a kiss that tastes like home, like a glass of
lemonade on the front porch while
fingers play like school children across
the gardens of your chest, and I smile
and look up at you, as you whisper to me
about how dreams really do come true
touch
he had hands like skyscrapers
that seemed to extend into galaxies
and I swear I could feel the burn of the stars
in his touch, a touch that granted me a million wishes
and gave me the feeling that I could fly
and I did, every time he touched me with those
big brown hands made of sky
in the garden
your soul is a garden
in which I seek refuge
it is always spring here and
the flowers are always in bloom
allow me to sit here a while
to get lost in the beauty and
the sweet fragrance of the roses
to hear the daffodils blow their horns
and to listen as the wind calls out to me
let me dance with the sun and
sway along with the breeze
let me remain here forever
for this place has all I need
