if i have to write these words
by hand
and tell the rawness of it all then
please God
let my fingers be wrapped around a fountain pen
with some weight
because my body will need an anchor
and because when i’m holding a fountain pen
i feel ripe and full barreled and ready to spill
the truth, whole
and the words i’ll write
please God
let them be heavy
tears for the thirsty, eternal
and let them last
and last
and last
and last
here i am
here i am: woman
walking on dry land
holding my breath
like i’m in deep water
somewhere out at sea
instead of right here in my living room
doing the complete opposite of what
is needed to survive
at this time
during these times
blocking air and ease and peace
running in circles, in and out of rooms
making more piles
instead of straightening out the crooked things
that were there before the land dried up
and the times became trying
and breathing became hard to do
what is needed
most days, i tell the truth
other days, i hold my peace
because that is what is needed
always
any minute now
any minute now
everyone (really some people)
will leave the internet
quit without notice
and without regret
because reasons (really because things feel forced now and everything is more than too much)
and because these are trying times
and enough is enough
cooking dry black beans at 5pm
if you wait
until 5pm
to cook
dry black beans
for dinner
there’s a good chance you’ll go to bed unfed
and hungry
but you knew that
and you also know
that i’m not just talking about
dry black beans
so tell me
are you ok?
and when did lack and longing become your companions?
look for me
look for me in the clearing
between brush and moss covered dirt
because I am there
look for me in the trees
between leaves and nesting places
because I am there
look for me in the stream
between clay and slip
because I am there
look for me in your own beautiful face
between lid and wet lash
because I am there too
now
i get it
you’re scared
me too
but i’m glad we’re being honest now
haibun / is that weird?
There are things in my life that insist on being unruly and resistant to reconciliation. For now, the particulars of those things aren’t important. Just know that they are unruly and resistant, and that I like order. Order is beautiful. Harmony sounds like peace to me. But these things in my life that insist on being unruly and resistant to reconciliation don’t give a fuck about my peace. They never have. So like vultures they circle me. And like a Black girl ready to fight, I vaseline-up. Unruly and resistant my ass. Hands up. But before long though, we’re dancing. Me and my unruly things are dancing. Possessed and trance-like. And there’s no order here. Or reason. Just chaos. Pure and unhinged. And I guess…I guess I like this too.
is that weird? tell me
the truth about loving the
darkness and the light
haiku and high praise for the bees outside my window
1.
we should be like bees
flying because we want to
forgetting our form
2.
the bees go to work
touching everything around
new life at their feet
3.
heavy bodies but
they can fly and that’s all that
has ever mattered
4.
the impossible
made possible for those who
can fly but won’t try
5.
when death comes i pray
i’ve finished my work and loved
the sting out of life
a new beginning, a new earth
everything out there
i can feel right here
inside my chest
which has always been
a kind of holy terrarium of
dirt and divine things that breathe
like out there
was except now it’s dry
and echos bounce off shatter proof glass
whole patches of me windswept
and tired
and then someone says
HERE, DRINK, LIVE!
and i gather my dry bones
and i go look
and marvel at the mirage because
there is no water out there
and because now my hopes and prayers
have no safe land to seed
i breathe
inside my chest
a new beginning, a new earth