Jaded

She’d become accustomed to
,used to,
,accepted that,
The ever growing
Pulsating
Burning edges
Of her Left Ventricle.

Won’t leave

A steady
Bah Dump
Now off center
Comes to a boiling point
Where she can’t
Crack open a cold one
of Blue Moon Tears
On the jagged edges
Of her Right Ventricle.

The Anniversary comes and goes
Like ripping pages off past dates
Of an old paper calendar
One year after the another
One Artium after the other
First the left then the right.

Slowly devolving into a stress ball of
Bah……Dump
It’s lost her pace
Only being squeezed
When necessary to feel
Some resemblance of life

Jades around the room
No kleenex near
She remembers to pull
A fresh page on the calendar

SSSSQQQQUUUUEEEEZZZZE

Death Anni- Trash Day.

She hates Trash Day.

6 line poem #2

Tops of black umbrellas
Sweep the grounds
Of a white American
Pleading for a justice
That wasn’t meant to serve us
Oh, the irony of A Happy Thanksgiving

6 Line Poetry #1

If I could swim!

I’d surely would!

So I can breaststroke far away from you!

You cry so much at all hours of the day and midnight.

But your little nose and toes wiggle so sweet softly won’t let me stray away.

I can’t swim anyway.

Just A Few

I need a few minutes
to breathe
I need a few seconds
to realize my possibilities
I need a few moments
to live, singularly

I need to cop
with the loss
I need to find a path
to resume activities without you
I need to live
with me, myself and I

I need a few minutes
for it to sink in
that you’re really gone.

Not My Brownstone

At last,
the room may stand as the museum of clothes
the dishes may remain pasta night stained
the floor may slightly be coated with bunnies

The giggles of grandma echo in the grand single
Sweeping in with the chirps of robins
Washing over my eardrums like the whoosh of
blowing out a candle
the room stands is

I can feel the internal
tug-O-war
surging with the flickering, dying bulb
my arms outstretched, fingers sprawled
like the edges of a carelessly cut rope
fortune teller reading the palm of my hand
and then
a white folded fortune teller lays in my other palm

A frustrating hiatus in the audacity of living in the real world

The void of NYC road trips on the MTA
with grandma’s wrinkled hand intertwined with mine
as we watch Bedstuy streets roll by
can’t be filled
but the whispers of her voice
float on the wings of the wind
fluttering in and out the non-insulated
of this subconscious

But at last,
The room can remain haphazardly thrown about
The dishes can remain mitch-matched
The floor can remain swifer free

I’d only wish, they’d come by
and
tell me to clean…

The absence cigarette burn stings

The Sky Was Never So Blue (A Monolouge)

I’d been so used to florescent lights and 8-3’s that I’d forgotten what it felt like to look up.

I’d been in a constant rush and bumping people in halls that I’d forgotten what it felt like to breathe.

‘Till  I left the nest and began to fly…

I was free and free to be me in any way shape or form.

I was alive and alive, not for the very first time, but for real this time.

I touched the clouds with my fingertips and finally saw the sun.

I could see and would be seen; not as a girl but a woman on her to way to make it out there in the world.

Yet still a college girl.

Damn, I’d really forgotten to look up and admire the sky that moved above me.

I’d forgotten how to be free, rather I never knew how…

But now I lay out in green pastures and simply be me. Young, pleasant and free.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to not be told what and when to do things!?! I couldn’t believe my little slice of heaven would be this amazing dream.

I’m alive, sparked to life, I can feel myself taking form. Young, Strong and Free.

And even though the blue sky sings like angels to me I still love to dabble back in my home where I’m never alone and always told what to do becasue I know soon I’ll be free.

I’ll always be free, and that’s good right?

When you’re free but you know where you’ve been and where you belong?

I’ve never seen the sky look like this before. Was it always this blue?

Santa?

It didn’t snow that Christmas. Well it never really snowed down here in Savannah, Georgia on the dark side of the tracks. Tumbleweeds flew across the railroad tracks as the sun blazed high in the sky. But it was Christmas for everyone else-for us it was just another day we were happy to live. My brothers and I awoke on our mattress to the sound of privileged children frolicking down our streets with their toys in hand and smiles on faces. We awoke next to each other in shabby clothing we’d worn for weeks. We didn’t say anything; we just sat in the silence for a moment.
After fully realizing we had been given another day on this god-forsaken earth we moved to living room. Nothing had changed which means nothing was taken in dark of the night but something was different. The floors still creaked, the window still boarded up, the couch still covered with dust and no Christmas tree stood in the corner of our dusty, dark, damp living room but something was different. Mother was gone for the day and father had long passed away so we just stood at the door of the living room but something was different.
On the table laid out was an apple, orange and nuts for my brothers but for me on the other side of the room was an apple, orange and small rag doll. Smiles slithered upon our faces and hope for happy days filled our hearts. We couldn’t have been happier.
I suppose it was Christmas after all; for everyone. Even for the kids on the dark side of the tracks down here in blazing Savannah. But there was no Santa. No snow. No Christmas tree. No reindeers or grumpy grinch down here in this side of the track.

But it was Christmas after all.