Slow Motion

I spread my thighs
you enter, My Style
full-sized, full-eyed
slow breathing exercise
lips charred. We cool

High moon, we spoon
deep, slow, solid
hips arching toward desire
hands naming what's required

You stake out landscape, yes
easy, open, body places
call each entry. Faces
masked in salt and tears

It's a shame there are boundaries
checking reality
no further skills-,
balancing budget, doing dishes,
treating me like a lady

I am a woman, with deep desire
deeper than my parts
wider than the space between my breast
come, come, come inside
my unborn, "about to happen"

Bring your paycheck, bring flowers
a smile; caring eyes
bring good reason and common sense
Diploma in Intuition.
Bring desire to segregate mood
swings, and calls for belly rub

35 Things I am Sick and Tired of, But Which Are Here to Stay

(1) Monotony

(2) Poverty

(3) Cellulite

(4) Pretentious people

(5) The devaluation of education

(6) Illiteracy

(7) Domestic abuse

(8) Weight loss commercials

(9) Polite racism

(10) Black peoples' historical inheritance of "doubleness"

(11) Winter

(12) "The Market"

(13) The increasing cost of living

(14) Hearing, "these are the last days"

(15) Unethical practices

(16) Long line-ups

(17) Underemployment

(18) Diseases

(19) Excuses

(20) Fear

(21) Explaining blackness

(22) Single motherhood

(23) Broken homes

(24) Hardened hearts

(25) Carrying the weight of black stereotyping and misrepresentation

(26) Irresponsibility

(27) Inadequate men

(28) Pain and suffering

(29) Discrimination

(30) The unending death and criminalization of YBM

(31) Barriers to success

(32) Pollution

(33) Stretch marks

(34) War

(35) Hunger

Gentle reminder to self, courtesy of an old friend:
"the world owes me nothing, it was here first"

Chill pills, and a few other things, would set this country straight

Did someone say recession?

Happy Pills by Son of Groucho

Warmth, equal opportunity for all and chill pills every other month would put us right back on track. Anti-discrimination practices served with a smile could also do the trick. Maybe good drinking water, that means lead-free, and the elimination of all man-made products that cause cancer. Oh, i almost forgot, lottery winnings for the poor!; no, seriously, the elimination of poverty would give this recession a kick in the rear. But, then again, how do you declare everyone rich in a depression? We're screwed! Take a pill.

Upon Arrival

Money, Power, Cement--
owners of Front Street
huddle together, pavement
and traffic lights under siege
old men nest like rodents on
banks below

Imperial, her majesty
Royal, in Trust
In whose trust?
financial interbreeding, fine dining
fancy mirrors, access
to capital gains. Scotia
spurns credit for sleeping
doormen in bags, subzero

Power on Front Street
is Progress, brick by brick
Home for old men, dreaming
a space,
head disjointed, no
Money to rest--

Should history record the
nightmare, ill-delusion. Seclusion
Power molded in sandstone
Red light, Green Night
shrieking alarm

Front streets ain't only
on Front Street
They in welfare offices
on subway benches and living
room couches
caseworkers and passersby smell
the stench,
have grown accustomed to the
indifference,
the unholy Divide
between ivory and calico

Photograph of My Mother as a Young Woman

Age-old scented paper
glaring
eyes piercing souls in the story
Behind the eyes are shadows
of generations--
maids, butlers, seamstresses
Big mamas nursing babies

Callow, slim, angled neckline
hold steady
"that's the nose i got!"
chiseled to suits the senses
Frozen truth in black and white

Hardened, broken, splintered
lips
a photograph of my mother
untold stories laid to rest
Silently spoken, haunting

Sparsely-cut black hairdo
askew to jawline
cheekbone
Frilly top shifting memory--
mother's mother
six Sundays ago

Healing After Heartache

During the past year, i have had four friends / family members who have had suffered heartbreak. The culprit? Men who just do not give a damn. I, however, have a strong sense of justice in words because the language we speak can be very powerful; words carry more weight than anything we can do to "fight back". I have always looked to words as a blueprint for healing. I suggested reading and writing to those hurting. Some prefer music and fine wine.

If i could create a language for healing after heartache, it would transpose a voice of strength, integrity and good humour. It would unveil the vein of truth that pumps a lifeline of emotion to that shielded organ we call "heart". It would clarify for us what we really feel, want and don't give a shit about. It would convey the will to rise above and beyond human folly and flaw--that which make us, at once, both human and monster. It would sound like...

It's okay, i get it. I like the absence; it's a nice dose of reality. Reality beats me into becoming a woman. A strong woman; a woman who understands what it really feels like to be low and out, but who is also able to learn, grow and live freely.

The way i "do things" is:

I care for people; i am sympathetic towards others and i feel other people's pain. I wear my heart on my sleeve, not because i want to, but because i am real. I am a real person. I am nobody's fool; i am witty. I am kind. I have a lot going for me. If you are real i can deal with you. What do i value the most? Honesty.

I am glad that i have made you a better person (assuming you no longer burn rice and you take your health seriously). You have made me a better person as well; in so many ways, i am wiser and stronger. My family means the world to me. My family is my world. I can be your friend. The challenge is yours to take.