what happens to a question unasked?

it folds and closes into itself
forgetting its aim
shooting the inquisitor instead of the target

my mind swims far and is filled with every type of wondering about you
my lips seal shut keeping me trapped within without answer or reason

my poetry for you is thought processes about me
and how i want and plan to achieve my goals of
the ultimate me

i would submit
at will
to the sound of your voice,
the promise of your lips
might your eyes welcome me in...
...might my heart let you win...

. . . they became my muses
a group of three
who loved me
as much as i did they
and you disintegrated
like the beads of sweat
down the sides of a cold glass
on a warm day. . .

Is this all I have seen of you?
All I will know of you?
Is now the time of goodbyes and the type of change that humbles me low?
Can I put on my face cloak and cover up what was once my glee filled expression?

Eyes heave with the weight of what happened and doubt drenches the collar of my favorite shirt
Body aches
And with nowhere to go for a layin on of hands
I wonder when healing will come
And where

Do you mean to tell me I was supposed to have timed the sequence and forgot to press start?
Then you too had almost outlasted your stay and of course you are only doing your job to turn away
But why then do I feel so half?
So unfinished?
Half-written with so much more to say?

They say idle hands are the devil’s playground
That an ear in silence is just waiting to hear God’s voice

And I do so pray that He speaks (and quite loudly) in these ears
Because they are bare and alone
And cold

I stood out on a street corner
Turning around and around on myself
Squinting through the danger coursing my way through darkness
Hoping to find your swagger on its way back to me

I want to confirm my impatience with your return
Watch you come back into plain view
Feel your goatee getting longer and making its way down my neck

I can’t stand your being away
I can stand your absence but I cannot keep you close in mind
If you are here you must be here
A girl’s brain can only encompass so many versions of the truth

What was I thinking?
and how did you get this far without having even held my hand?

I am the laughing stock of my senses
And you are nowhere to see my pity crowd around
Have I exhausted the kitchen fan?
Am I utensils used and now used up?

I have missed out on sleep
For the last few days
I lay in my bed
With my head nestled in my pillow
Usually I keep my breast covered
Sheet
Then blanket
Then comforter
And my body
Hot with heat and missing something just lays there
I keep my eyes closed
And usually find sleep somewhere between track six and seven

I don’t believe you would have me wanting you missing you liking you like you know I do
And with no satisfaction of you reaching out to
Me

I can believe I have no assistance
Just didn’t think I’d have to bear it now
And with you

Let me remember a night when you came to me unafraid and we answered each others calls for touch

Fall does that to us I think/drags us back to our knees down to where we originally fell for a deep voice or a smooth sound that sang us to sleep nightly/is fall the steady we’ve always been looking for or do we set a rhythm for the changes//at a pace too fast and a tempo quickened by our heartbeats//how do we tame our wanting greedy hearts/know that what we have is what we need/

this is some serious deepdown touch little lady//little lady/are you ready for soft hands and good feelin?////yes daddy eyes/as long as you’re gentle and proceed with caution//you know i’m delicate jewels/and still virgin//glass vase in a dark room//don’t break me now

face to face is how we met
and we sway
and we sway
and we sway

today is freeday
I have released all questions
Dropped them in the bucket on my way in
Hung them with my coat and lost my ticket
Arms raise
Muscles release
Reflexes relax
Leaks become floods without the tragedy of lives lost

Closer and
Closer and
Closer

When sand slips we must let it go
Clay is moldable in the hands of the makers
I find your hands on me in creative ways
Pushing me through delicate spaces with ease and care
Gentle and urgent
No demand is ever too much

In this tone of voice I would for you lie face down on asphalt
On a night wet with acid rain
Just to humor you
Life befalls no threat in your company
Never its going but its coming

And you bring me your gifts
Bring me your gifts
And I will make you king of kings over all my majesty

Keep them coming
Keep me coming
Keep coming back for more off all that is yours
And here I will be
To deliver all your fantasies

Send me away at unheard of hours on silent streets in a neighborhood not mine but something like home

Chop me free of what I knew before and bring me into your time

I am draped over your shoulder in a dance choreographed before we even met
With one ear free I listen to a beat made by someone you know well
Fathered in the same way as you
Beaten down and still lifted up

There are lines on your face that say there is still and always will be something to smile for
Even in all seriousness there is a ringing coming soon
Alarming depth and bringing her closer to me

Last night I got stuck in your eyes
When I woke from my trance all around me was old and familiar
Dusty like shoeboxes filled with words read and re-read
You were there
Holding me with hands strong and flat
Plain against the brown of my back
I looked up and fell back into the space created when green turns brown
The swirl of our bodies creates a milky way
And we ride
Smooth and free-like
Galaxies soar and all that glitters is us

Note to the wise:

Sometimes I think that publications intended or targeted mainly at white audiences—both print and broadcast—think to themselves as they go through production and editing and the process of deciding on which stories to include:

Well even though this story could (and will) definitely fall into the category of “touch-and-go,” due to its caustic nature and scathing tone, since the author is black, we’ll let it slide. I mean, it’s not like we’ll get the slack from it. It’ll just be another chance for black people to come up in the world—to address their problems and get their issues with each other out on the table. As a matter of fact, it would be a certain disservice of us to not publish this controversial, and, if we might mention very well-written (and edited), article. Indeed, let’s go to print.*

And you know, sometimes I feel them. I mean we, as black people seldom know how to or where to direct our frustrations, and trust me, they are many. But dayum, it would be nice if every now and then, the media moguls of this here country would step back and perhaps deal the fairer race (I’m talking inner beauty here, guys) one or both of those wonderful gifts God grants us all every day: grace and mercy. It’s not like they (ofays…look it up) have much more than their own persons to worry about or concern themselves with, seeing as how seldom do they even care enough about their less fortunate brethren who are incarcerated, just flat-out crazy or poor, to write degrading articles about them or to deliver tirades on stages across the country (shoutout to the man with the master [show]?) or produce any reaction of the sort. For the more generally termed “fairer race” those less fortunate members are by skin only—hardly acknowledged by blood—and the name they use, quite freely might I add (and usually very uncomfortably for ME), is “white trash”…drop the “poor” for good measure.

When your daddy was rich and your momma looked good for real—not just in a really great song—you really do get to enjoy Summertime in places like the Hamptons and the Catskills, where only the lucky little size 2 friends who happen to be a bit browner, are brought for some extra fun and to show that “see, I have black friends too!”

But truly this is not a rant against my sisters and brothers from very different mothers. This is just a reaction to the beginning of an article, written by a black man for a white magazine (and please don’t say it’s not a white magazine when we have to beg our way onto the pages…or better, when the only articles truly directed at us are against us—think about it), that, perhaps quite accurate in its depiction of some of the race’s problems, may turn several readers away, just because of the not-so-sweet beginnings it speaks and the consciousness previously held by those very readers. Even a highly educated person (yes, just like me) might be offended by the brass nature. But still I rise…and read on. I’m sure there is something great and profound to be extracted from these words. Stay posted.

…and yes I did go on to read the rest, but I’m a reactionary every now and then. Aren’t we all?

p.s. the article, by the way, is unfortunately as closed-minded as the opening paragraph which prompted this piece. Sad…it had such a potential to actually say something. I found only a glimpse of sense in the pages and PAGES of chaff at its very end:

"We came up from slavery to freedom without regard for the Constitution, which gave us nothing, and the plantation masters, who gave us the whip. We came up from oppression to civil rights without regard for hurled bricks and sicced police dogs. Water hoses. The word nigger.
This, then, is my directive: Let us achieve with equal disregard for the limitations of racism…"

This is not a new suggestion, but it’s something remotely useful that the reader, slightly disgusted and very disappointed at having just spent so much time and potential brain power if not eye muscles, may appreciate in the midst of it all.

*Prompted by the first paragraph of “The Manifesto of Ascendancy for the Modern American Nigger,” Esquire, December 2006, Volume 146, Issue 6. http://www.esquire.com/features/articles/2006/061105_mfe_December_06_Essay_1.html

sometimes silence is the best answer of all...

It all started with a good day and a red skirt.

My friend and I had gone to Miami at the beginning of august for a weekend away. We were “grown women” now, reveling in the pseudo-freedom of New York’s single life and what little grace our jobs and her slavery to law school were allowing us.
Friday night, August 4th, we set ourselves free into the video-like arms of Miami, warmth, beaches, and a very talkative cab driver from Iran. His voice and stories taught us laughter and love in moments where that’s all we thought we’d ever need.

But this story is not about Miami. Though perhaps the next will be. This story is about the thing I battle with most in this here life-o-mine. Love. And how sometimes I’m a bit more casual with the people I give it to and how. And how I get myself in these lofty storybook/television-like situations to begin with.

And the most recent ending started with a red skirt.
I had woken up colorful that morning. My room, in all of its languor and disarray still contains/holds a window that lets in every bit if Godliness it can muster between two 6-floor pre-war buildings in Manhattan’s beloved (and very Dominican) Washington Heights. By the time my alarm goes off, the sun is stretching her arms. By the time I have pressed my last (of 5) snooze release, she smiles wide and bright, sometimes even giving me a welcome laugh. Who needs artificial light with such a beautiful reality?

This morning—it was a Tuesday—even though the air outside didn’t appear to match the sun’s glorious mood, I felt like laughing too…and looking good. I popped out of bed with the perfect atmosphere-picker-upper: the red skirt I had gotten on bargain in Miami. It was marked for $40, the storeowner who easily identified my friend and I as New Yorkers because of our “style” wanted $30, and I told him I wanted it for $25—and got it. If anybody ever wonders how to make me happy, it’s simple: give me what I want.

(to be continued...)

The death of me came at your hand
Choking off my words and keeping my hands back from their prize

transitions

And the thing is I want to let go
I have a problem remembering to forget all of what happened to get me to where I am these days

I am strong minded and able to interpret feelings into emotions
Actions into meaning

What I can’t seem to do is let go
I need concrete to smack me not too hard in my face
Like the fall I survived at 4 the day before the party
And I still smiled in all the pictures
Enjoyed my friends scars and pizza all the same

So maybe if we can arrange some happy easy time

Some easygoing atmosphere
Maybe rolling around in a canopy filled with red and green and blue and yellow plastic balls

Maybe if we stay away from you saying things like one day and tease me
Maybe if you define us for me
And say what we will be right now
Then I can hear you
And interpret you
And box you in
Until it’s playtime and reassessment needs to be made

And then maybe after a few years of laying still in the net filled with plastic color we’ll wake up and say we like it this way
Together in the fun times and the quiet times and amidst loud noises
Or maybe we’ll say we like it but would like it even more if we substituted the round sometimes unpredictability of plastic beneath with a softer more even surface
With pillows nonetheless

These are my elementary ideas to save our fate from my fingers and screens I have to squint to see
You are free (and encouraged) to provide input or even take control of what will be our destiny

I’ve never been too good at transitions

Heavy air and easy talk could be an option if I had never lied
Never cried
And one day had let you go

But I never released it all
Wouldn’t give up the ghost that had lain to rest in my arms
You stood by, waiting for me to rise and walk away with you

After waiting for the next call to come in, you clicked over
Leaving me holding this former bag of gold
A treasure no longer worth its weight

So you want to see me bagless with arms free
Light and windy like our wonderful city
Well…it depends…
Can I put you on hold?

I watched
Astonished
As he dropped words for me like I dropped my panties for him
I give to you because you give to me
And I'll keep coming back again and again
And again
Your abundant rivers break open solid grounds in me…
This silent cottony deaf thing in my mouth—is this what speechless feels like?

The hills have rolled away with my heaven
I step onto a rock, see myself reaching up to the blue sky
Come to find out, it’s not the sky at all but your eyes

Why did you play that song that night?
And why did you make me feel like a natural woman and hold me so tight and make me feel so real and warm and wanted?
Why did you sing songs with me?
And why did you kiss me on my neck?
Why did you play me music and write me poems?
When all you ended up doing was leaving me alone?
Why did you take my poems?
Why did you take my breath?
You took my songs and you accepted my gifts
You took my time and I only let you because I thought you were mine

Why were you there?
And why aren’t you here anymore?
Why did you change?
Why aren’t things the same?

Why were we friends
And how did we become so?
Why are there so many things about you I don’t know?
Why did I think you loved me as I loved you?
Why didn’t you love me?
How did we grow so far after being so close?

What happened to the kingdom we built?

You were the only one who mattered for so long
The phone that was never ignored
You were the dedication written and signed
The muse I cried over and wept for
The words I pored over, night after night

The body for which I never longed, but always wanted
You were always drops full of love that I couldn’t realize
A face drowned in tears
A throat choked up with emotion

And I’m calling you out tonight
Pulling your memory back to mind
Back to an empty space in me
My brain is screaming out the question, why?
And I’m left wondering what happened

You are the hardest choice I’ll ever have to make
The deepest breath I’ve ever thought to take
Because you took me away from everything real
And after all these years you touch my heart still

Putting you to sleep is
Nice
Your eyz cloze
aNd yr erz pillow out all sound
Only my voice
Saying
Go to sleep crawls thru your fatigue strong enuf for u to wake and sey
Goodnight

Let me hold you
Let me hold you
You let me hold you and it was good to feel close to another beating heart

I am inspired by the light I saw in your eyes
The reflection ponds welling in you
Time did not itself tick away but held steady between you and me
Sitting
Drinkin
Talking
Being who we felt like being tonight
The only ones we know how to be

And on the way home you held me close and I held on
Up we both fell sleepy head on sleepy head

Your opened arms brought me generosity so far away I didn’t remember what it looked like when I saw it
Blinked twice and then fell down in your muscled armory

Now I’m home and almost ready to fill myself with the feeling of your familiar against my face
Arm around my waist
Warmth in my space
You are very welcome to come as you please

Is laughter considered self tickling?
Or is it a tickle at a distance
Like a drive by shooting without the pain?
Involuntary is what it seems to me
And then it must be more like a gift quite well wrapped and very well hidden
Like the valley?
And really if a valley is hidden where really is it?
And who knows?

The sound of laughter is sharable
Rice falling in a kitchen floor
And too transparent to find again without sweeping it up and throwing it away
It might be soft and shy
A wool sweater that falls in the back of a walk-in closet
Footsteps on a carpet
Nobody hears it so nobody knows it
Unless their ears are open and attentive to the giver

Earth shattering and quite conspicuous
Literally disturbing
Please
Don’t do that again

Or better
Shut up!
Not so much a gift as a joke
And then who’s laughing?

Not me

But it is not controllable this gift we give when given the gift of the impulse to share ourselves with anyone in hearshot
So in our freedom slash lack of control
Let us just make the most of the sounds around us the things we see with eyes now wet from wit well used and so very funny

Do not close it in with a haha but let it breathe and spell itself
Give new definition to the smile

it’s funny.
the man who has released all these words images and emotions in me is nowhere to be found
and I don’t think I need him
want is a different concept altogether, though I don’t think I’m going to further pursue either need or want for now

his voice is deep and whole
i say it is monotonous but not so much as a drone as a song
his voice is a song that sings in one and a hundred notes
i listen attentively to the record in my head
as it spins I sit down to write
my fingers the only respondents to his conversation inside of me

The place I lost and found my innocence was the place I found myself
Love hung low on full green boughs
And bugs ate away at my unknowing
Skies lay high above my head and hands never were idle
Days were filled with dance and music and good old folk songs that donned the walls of the rec hall
Wooden with warmth and filled with the knowing of labor
Those days cleaned themselves leaving lasting memory in me
If I hush I hear the hum of stories being read as sleep drifted us into imagination
Smells still rouse me on good mornings and i am energized by what newness the day will bring
Lumber hard worked and then firelit
Leaves fallen and heaven sent

Paths hidden and unknown until feet fall and tread it familiar
This place was where I learned that nature holds us all safe and close
Underneath a bright night sky, white stars find us hopeful that our eyes will again see such glory
And whispers turned into longings of love and what we hoped life would hold
A kiss on a cheek never before met by lips not mothers or fathers
Vans packed tight
Sleeping bags and repellent

And rivers and creeks and streams

And sad goodbyes
Spiders crawled legs while friendship was braceleted around our souls
Clay melted deep into our fingers as we all came together
Barnyard style
Loud and proud
And denying the confines of social graces
Take a drag
Pick an apple
Make a scene
Break the rules
Set the record straight
Pull laughter from ten-year olds
Render creation sacred

I remember the infirmary where at 7am the screen door was shut and sleep lay at rest inside
When blue eyes locked into mine, 5 years too young to know what to do with a stare

To go back to good food
Wicked confidence
Beautiful earth
Cooking hands
Rich minds

Is to go back home
To reunite the circle
Between all of these groups of dancers
Looping the world wide with their goodness
And making a promise never to be broken

May this place never be broken

Circle pines

You are steeped in fear
Like a tea bag mischosen and bad tasting in my mouth when I sip carefully in fear of burning my mouth

Let me burn

Your hands are unknown to mine
Your eyes hidden in the dark of your coverings

And you like this picture of yourself you paint

Control is yours and unshared
No such co-conspirators
No shared space

You hope to keep footing without losing those on whom you walk

And I care not so much your path, but my back is mine
And not for your feet

I have this problem admitting to myself that I want you to want me
If you call you’re wrong
If I call I’m definitely wrong
If you say the words I love you I freeze
Ignition falters
Car halts
Airbags activate
And I am left without

When i was younger i never knew what it would look like for a girl to have to walk funny and never knew why
until last night became this morning and the curve of my legs just wasn't the same

to a real poet--s.k.

i like the way your hands creep up behind me
my skin laughs at your tender taming touch
you are family and of the same care
your hands are nature's gift and do belong everywhere they go
know what they want
on my neck they tell stories of world travels
down the bumpy road of my spine they detour
chancing reality and taking in the scenery on all sides of this mountain
i stand
and somehow i can stand not letting out a scream
a whimper
not letting my head fall too dramatically to the front or the back
this is not a public affair
and i say to you i knew it would be this way
sweet like in childhood when i longed for whipped cream,
scooped it up with one finger and devoured delight whole
and always came back for more
and the more your fingers lingered, crawled, created home for you
on me
the better i knew that your eyes have seen me whole before
and i do not doubt we have come to this spot where we stand
soft hand in soft hand

When i gt oldr and my children tug @ my skirt and ask me where i wz whn
& if i wz there then, i want 2 b able 2 say, "i wz there for love"

i wait for your voice to cover me
in day or sleep

good night

Prelude

your voice is sweet, at peace
in pieces i find myself
all over the place and in one

Ode to your voice

O sweet depth
O heavenly mystery
Lead me down your darkened passageways
Hand me over to your senses and let me fall fearlessly through your abyss
Rise and sound
Walls have never known these acoustics
Vibrations have never this deeply shook the foundation of this structure
Chords rip and burst through ligaments long lengthened
In this mind have you carved a memory dew-drop sweet
A merciful melody combs through eager winds
Thrashes them all around me in abundant disarray and hopelessly I return to the recurrent cadence of you saying my name there in that here and now, my head rests heavy and holy in the space between your and my heaven, from whence comes the sweet music I rise to hear each day
Tenderly
You draw me in

i want to knit
crochet my memories into bags
and blankets that will keep me warm
cover me like the leaves the fall from the trees when it is time for change

You like saying goodbye
Is it because you know what will follow is hello?
I tripped over a newspaper this morning getting off the train
Thinking of you
Brings me no shame
Sometimes you call and give me a sweet surprise
I never know
With you there is only up
And spicy is the quickest way to get my tongue in action
And going nonstop
Like the flight I’ll be taking home for the holidays
I want a guaranteed spot under your watch on the second day of 2007
Don’t promise me
Just give to me
Two hour glimpses of you on late nights
When I should be planning but I rather you selfishly submit time to me
What you are to me is this mystery I finally decided I don’t need to solve
I know what I like
I know how fast you make my hand move
The thoughts you stir
My head can take
Wants to take you into permanent residency—but I feel your pull back when I get too close
I drop speech quick and maybe too fast into your right ear on Monday nights at ten
And Tuesdays just before you lay down in your bed alone
It is dark because you’ve offed the lights
My voice dances gracefully in your head, across synapses
Making you to remember tiny little details about me
While you wait for sleep
This slow patient waiting thing you do
Is new to me
But I like it
Your pace
So I’ve decided to stay and see where it takes us
Home, maybe
Or out to eat
But someplace
We’re definitely on our way

Where you ask?
We are on our way to where we’re going
And my daddy won’t be nowhere near

for adp
always will you find me by your side
and ready to take your head on my shoulder
as any good friend should

the thing is,
i like you
i like the way your voice bounces off me before i go to sleep
and the way i hear you when i stroll streets otherwise boring
on days otherwise unbearable
i like talking to you and not knowing when the conversation will end

i want you
in a way un-tarnished by secular needs or desires
but i do want you
i want your ears
your eyes on me
if not all the time, then damn near
i want your attention
and your "hello?" when i call

the thing is
i want to be
as close to yours as i can be
without even knowing if you want me
i want to know what you’d do if i walked up to you
all eyes on you
came close
took your hand
my breast at your chest
and started to move
to dance with your still black soul
i want to dance with you

and i want to be available to you
even in my pristine unavailability
and even though i want to do this impossible thing
to answer all your calls
to catch you when you fall, in no uncertain terms
i want to do this in the presence of you
and with your consent
and with your comprehension of why and where

and how i do it is not so important
just as long as you know
what it is i’m here to do

you let me read you poetry
from a book you'd never seen

(you) let me crawl into your memory
before you knew what kind of impression i'd leave

you let me kiss your cheek
without knowing where my lips have been

you welcomed my sunshine
as i walked towards you on a street called greene

I make up reasons not to call you
I have to finish this scarf
I need to get started on this application
Work is way too busy
When really all I want is for you to reach out and touch me
Take me home to where you live
Bring me to where you are
Show me where you want to be
And then keep me in your pocket so I never worry about having to leave you
Or you leaving me

But then again…

I see in you
This man I want
To be open
With you I feel
And without trying
I know we are both guarding
Our preciousness
From harm and destruction

I think your serious face is quite nice
But a smile
The hint of laughter on those cheeks
Your eyes bounced side to side when you were thinking

You make me feel like i do
when i get in the shower
naked and warm
and when the water comes down on me
i have no choice
but to look up to my God
in thanks
for the cleansing i know
is on its way

You think too much
Just like me
What did she mean?
What do I mean?
To you

And what do you want me to mean
When I say what I say

I would say more
But I rather write
Because to write is to say it all
Without saying anything

I wouldn’t mind getting caught up
In you
In the tangle of thoughts you have
Each night you write
What do you write?
Recipe, poetry, melody
You say music drives you
Can I ride?

I want to write back and say...
"umm, are you serious? like, are you seriously trying to make me blush at WORK!?! OMG! omg are you serious?
i can't--
i--
i have to go"

for e.a.h.

what if I was the kind of person who just talks to talk
says words that make rain fall
dance across sidewalks drowning poor worms that slither to their lonely half death

what if the sound of my voice were deep enuf to unearth layers of years
rocks hard with time and making this ground the solid place where you stand
what if I could make you fall

would I love myself enough to make you doubt
care so much about me that I forget about you

would I bring you close only to push you away
turn my head away when I had called your name

what if my hands were the hands of time
seconding us close and minuting us far away

could I be the face that makes the sky to fall
little pieces of cloud like soft fluffy balls
and when these clouds fall they wipe your tears away
but I’ll have made you cry so have I ruined or saved the day?

What if my words were true
What if these eyes I let you see
Are really into you
And yours are really into me

What if I dreamt last night I could hold onto you forever
I would hold you in my arms
With our bodies as our words
Our speech spoken silent as a feather

What if the last time I saw you
My urge was to follow each step you took
But I had to go back inside
And force these hands of mine to cook

What if my true wish was to feed you
With all the love I have inside
I’ve been waiting for this hour
I see my time has now arrived

i think
the problem
is
we spend our time
thinking about
solutions to problems
that don't exist

You were there in the time when I needed someone to be there
You came and took good care with me
In dark hours our feet touched through blankets there for warmth
And our voices called names we both knew from a shared home
In the mornings the swirl of clothes would make me dizzy
But there was always work to be done
You called me friend and on the morning of my birth that year you covered my door with the love I didn’t seem able to let in
Your face still haunts my ability to feel good
Those trees I smelled on our way home are why I remember you in the fall

Meeting Haiku
if you and i were
of the same native tongue i
would pass you a note

daytime Haiku
gray-haired matron boss
thin lips draw flat line
pencil in hesitation

"hello?"
"hey, how are you?"
"I'm cool. Ummm, are you married?"
"whoa! Whoa...where did you get that from?"
"I was just curious and figured now would be a better time to ask than later, that is, considering the possibility of a later."
"So you're saying there won't be a later? Does that mean I don't get my CD?"
"Well that would presume that there is a CD I have that belongs to you. But that also doesn't answer my question. DO you have a wife?"
"No."
"Okay."
"IS that all? No more interrogation?"
"I'm sure i have more questions, but nothing comes to mind right now."
"Alright. How's that for a start of a conversation?"
"I'm sorry--didn't mean to spring it on you. i just wanted to know. I mean I know you have business and life to attend to, which I admire in you, but I guess I'm just used to a more responsive front than what I'm getting from you."
"I don't respond enuf for you?"
"That's not what I said. I just said I'm not used to not getting as silent a response as you give me. Because I do hear your silence. But I sometimes may be prone to overthinking exactly what they mean, and I don't want to drive myself off a cliff trying to figure out what some sanskrit figures on this opaque wall in my mind mean. You feel me?"
"Kind of...yeah, I understand. But I really have been busy. I had a dinner last night and the night before."
"Great--how did they go?"
"Ohhh, they went well."
"What did you make?"
"For the one on Tuesday night, I made ___ and the one last night I went with an Italian theme..."
"Niice. Sounds really good. I didn't eat McDonald's last night, or the night before."
"I'm proud of you. So is there a CD, then?"
"I mean I have cds at home if that's what you're talking about."
"Hahaha. Nooo that's not what I'm talking about. You don't want to talk to me right now, do you?"
"No, I do want to talk to you. More often than not actually. I think that's my deal right now. I'm dealing with the fact that you're not married and that you're successful and that you have things to attend to that are not me. And I'm a middle child so I'm used to not getting that much attention, but I think maybe I've been spoiled over the last few months...so all this in-between thinking-slash-down time I get with you is a bit unsettling, especially since we both know about your firewalls and all."
"Oh, you're concerned with my firewalls."
"Your guards. I don't know what happened to you before me. I mean I know about Chris and his mother in Haiti....I don't know who else you're dealing with right now, because I'm sure I'm not the only voice you hear day in and out. You're a very attractive man. I know I wasn't the only one to see that."
"Well, thank you. You're very beautiful. And you're right. I do have other women friends, but it's nothing serious."
"Do you have sex with them?" (I would NEVER ask this--not at this stage anyway. I would say:
"It's not serious...okay. Yeah, well, so that's cool. I mean, that makes sense. I have friends too, but I have to admit that I most enjoy my time talking to you. But somehow that can be overcome."
"You're already ready to overcome me?"
"I'm a very impatient person and I guess I am spoiled to some degree and I know myself enough to know what I like when I see it. And I don't like wasting my time or anyone else's, so instead of waiting around for something that could have been settled early on, I like to get it all out in the open asap."
"Okay, I understand where you're coming from. And I can respect that. How old did you say you are?"
"24"
"Well you definitely sound more like an older woman--meaning that you know what you want."
"Thank you. You're right. I do know what I want. But I really don't like being in the position of getting disappointed, especially when it could have been avoided."
"But you can't avoid life."
"But i can try my darndest to know al I can about the situations into which I enter."
"This is true. Well, I'm not married. I do have female friends who I talk to every now and then. But I am very interested in you and would like to get to know you better."
"I'd like the same. But if I have to get used to KNOWING that there will hardly ever be a time when I can reach you, that may not be an option, because from what relationships I have had, I know very well that I hold accessibility in VERY high regard. For whatever reason it means something to me. And that doesn't mean that I need to be able to reach you every time I call. But I do at least hope to be on the list of 'things to do' in the mist of all else you do with your time."
"I'll see if I can make that happen."
"Oh, you'll see, huh?"
"Yeah, I'll see. You know, I don't usually let people put me on schedules, unless they're paying clients."
"Oh well certainly my time (like yours) is my money, so I think I already have an invoice for you for last week's dinner. :)"
"We'll just have to see about that."
"Well do something to see about it then."
"What are you doing tonight?"
"It depends on when tonight is (since this conversation is going on in my head)."
"Well clear your schedule for whenever this is--we've got seeing each other to do."
"umm, I'll see what i can do."
"Yeah, you do that and get back to me."
"I'll check my schedule--you just make sure you're available when I call you back. Bye."
"I'll talk to you later."
"Yep, peace."

Food is art and men are exes
That’s what I got from the conversation
How about you?
Oh well I know that I’m the fire that sparks the flame that is you and that your brain is too full for my liking but I’ll put up with it because I like that you can hear me even when I’m silent
And I like that your firewalls protected you enough to let me in
And I liked that your eyes spoke in a voice that sounded like ella that day when we met on the street
And I like that you walked towards me after feeling me move in the away direction
And even though you cut me off
But only because I had to stay on track with my destiny
But it’s ok because now we are
Each other’s
Destiny
And that we don’t have to talk to mean what we feel
Because words are sometimes and so often misused
And stale like old bread
You don’t cook with that, do you?
No, only for you
Yes, well as long as it’s edible
Not as edible as coconut meat
You mean juice
I mean juice. . .yours
My juice!
I’m a guy. It’s my job
That’s not your job. Plus you’re off today!
But I’m running errands and you know that means I’m coming for you
Misspelled but feel free to join me. I can’t wait to see you again
Whoa whoa, there’s that comfortable thing again
No couches in your system, huh?
Why all this maintenance robot talk
You started it
Well let’s finish it then. I want to spirit you away from this convoluted matrix where we exist
Where will we go?
Home, to a new place where systems don’t crash, viruses don’t exist, and music reigns it all
Shiiit, let’s go now
Ah, sweet princess, don’t let’s rush this dance
Who’s dancing?
We are, dancing towards something sweet in the morning
I love sweet
I love morning

I just found this among old emails when looking for the song "someone to love"
looks like i must have used one or most of those words in this piece SEVERAL times :)
this was something of an attempt at being my more open self
feel me--


I was walking down the street this morning after I got off the train and I realized something. First of all, I'm a liar (to myself…and sometimes to other people).

I point blame always away from myself, or I try to. And when it comes to relationships, I'm the master of blame. This is not a good thing.

The reason I started thinking as I was walking (among other reasons) was because right when I got out of the station, my phone started vibrating. And I thought--this couldn't be happening. Who could be texting me in the morning?

It was this guy from Howard I used to like/have a crush on, but who I didn't feel was willing to make himself available (in any way) to me. And I feel like that has happened so much with me. That I'm looking for people to open up to me, but what I realized is that maybe I have to first open up to them, or at least have that as an available option. And I haven't. But I want to.

Remembering how I always want someone who's willing to be really "open" or truly honest with me and how frustrating it was for me to see SO much potential and beauty in these people always killed me because to me, it seemed like vulnerability was the most beautiful thing to experience. Hard to access, but once you did it, you had truly felt--(I've watched lots of movies)--and feeling is like the ultimate. I DO want to be vulnerable and honest and feeling and I want to make the decision to do it and I think you're completely right about fear. It's a helluva drug.

So last night when you sensed (correctly, even though I wasn't aptly aware of it) that I was still being distant I was scared for being found out, scared that I'm waaay too apparent these days…

A whole lot of thoughts just started coming to me

I'm scared of needing someone--I don't even think I understand the concept/don't feel like I'm strong or useful enough to be needed--what could I do for someone in need?

But the most scary thought when we were sitting on the bench in Washington Sq. Park was that because I couldn't get my act together and f-ing let myself feel (though I didn’t know that or why I couldn't) I was about to lose this person in my life, who I don't want to lose. If I'm to lose you, I want it to be because while you're away you find someone who is THE ONE and you find your true happiness and fall in love not with possibility or potential, but with the real thing. Or I want it to be because you do something really bad so I can blame you. I know that sounds bad, but I couldn't imagine being the reason for losing someone as wonderful and funny and kind and warm-hearted and smart and human as you are and have been to me.

This morning when I got the text from my friend and started thinking about why he would call me, I thought: I wanted this guy to be "open" with me and got frustrated when he wouldn't. I've since met a guy with whom I haven't made myself fully available, and it was like I was holding up a mirror and thinking to myself: arin, you are stupid! And I don't really like to be stupid, so I want to be smart. About you and about me/us.

I like you so much and I really want to fully enjoy being around you. I don't know if "taking things slow" is an option, but if it is and you can stand me, I would like to spend lots of time with you (so we can do things I've written down on paper I won't show you) and really feel like I got to know at least parts of you in a non-rushed way. I don't know if that's possible, but let me know.

At the end of the day, after all is said and done, and all that jazz…in this moment, I can say to God and whoever else is listening that I am so SO thankful to have you around me helping me learn more about myself and about you. I don't want to miss out on any of the blessings of you in my life, and since I can't erase history and you've already made such an impact, my hope would be to keep you always close…and I will in as many ways as I can.

I don't know the future…I kind of don't even want to, but I want to be my better, more honest, emotionally available self from now on. And you helped me want that. I guess I just want to say thanks.

for e.a.h. and l.a.-made by j.j.

my hand does not move to the beat of your heart though without it i would stand still
my heart does not pound down the door to your temple though where it leads i'd like to enter
my home is not yours is not mine
we are not each other's

possesion seems an american construct
or maybe western

worldly
ungodly

"and the fullness thereof"
shared fullness, i think they meant
where is our sharing?
and where, then, is our fullness

i am yours, hers, his
we are our own for the taking and sharing and loving and cheering and comforting
we are nothing if not our entire selves coming into collaboration with everything that does and can possibly exist in our company

close your eyes and see all that is around you
green dances with navy and black skitters across the sky's stage
baby gold and gray sparkles bounce excitedly off each other
fingers reach out to touch the unknown
drawing newness where it belongs

a hammock swings on its own
woven into it is the memory of everyone whose troubles have fallen through the crocheted cord of its togetherness onto the backs of hollow gourds below
into our thirsty mouths did they spill their gift--the juice of life not yet lived

we are one
made from one
coming together as one
intended to act towards one
ultimate good
so very good

green grass freshly mowed has never smelled so
good
chocolate fresh-whipped dripping from the whisk has never tasted so
good
soft fingers trailing their way down my smooth brown back has never felt so
good
is all we were ever meant to be

like the light of day and the dark of night
it is good
it is good
it is good

my lexicon lacks the language to let you in

i walked a ways tryna find out if you still wanted me around
my feet got sore and weary found me sitting by a sign that said no entry
my eyes blurred from the dark and foggy night
i tried to call but got only a busy signal

where you left me is where i got left
movement took me farther and farther from myself
don't remember much what i wore that day
shoes, a bra, no makeup
caught offguard so i didn't get to put on a belt or even earrings

was just time to move
on and on i danced myself outta the shoes i had bought special for the purpose of being yours
soft soled pretty thangs with tiny little diamonds on the straps
they'd arrived in a leather covered box
inscription read 'for the long road ahead'

i never knew they knew so well what they said

my problem is that i feel
emotion weighs 99 pounds more than i can rationally bear
muscles strain
throat choaks
voice hushes
trembles
fails

thoughts run rampant
and disease takes hold

eyes dart
think think
think

senseless and laying on cold tile
hard and impersonal

"what about it?"

insensitivity drives while i sit in the backseat unbelted in
driving without the wheel is very dangerous indeed

make sense out of half words
l tt s
out of order and missing meaning like the last bus home

and i hold my breath close like the teddy bears i used to buy myself
waiting for an answer that won't come

what is it like being home?

home is the first wind blowing against a tear-streaked face, telling us fall has come and is here
like water dripping lightly from the sky tiptoeing across skin like slippers on a hardwood floor
home is the silence of knowing and not having to say
green leaves turned orange and drifting back whence they came

home is brown bark ripped from old trees still very alive
green-gray water swishing against concrete walls
an orange moon that appears and then disappears through paper thin clouds against a sky whose name resounds more deeply than cerulean

a voice harsh and loving
and a smile filled with the gift of simple presence
bitter crying cold and a zero wind chill when you left your best scarf in a warm place

home is slush and dirt
yellow snow and snowsuits for three year olds
angels that are white but only by association

it is ten minutes added to the ride for the care given to the cold car that will warmly arrive at its proper destination

home is hot tea by a bright fireside
couches twenty years old and still cushy
shoes that will never be worn again but can never be discarded

home is heaven on earth
and in its arms sleep cradles and rocks to the beat of my very heart

It doesn’t make sense for me to ask someone else what you’re thinking.
I want to ask you and be able to get a straightforward answer.
I am not being emotional.
I am asking a question whose answer I deserve to know.
I don’t want or need for this to be complicated, I just want to know why you couldn’t let me come to you when all the stars were in order.
Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.

after all this time
of battling and keeping my mouth and legs closed
i let a man i haven't even known
don't even know his last name
into my house
on top of me
he laid me out
made me feel good

i can't tell if he's pushing me back to where i came from
all this hard work falling down the drain
i don't know of he's around for more than a kiss on the neck
'twas his smile that brought me here and leaves me confused

he ripped me open
and now here i am
with no clue of where to go
or which way to turn

i needed a clean slate
fresh and bright
recycled and lined
and smelling alcohol-pure like kindergarten paper
i haven't written in so long
poured out the thoughts of my soul
why do i hold myself back
keep myself inside of bottles i recycle to save space
only taking up much more
than i have

i am crushed by my own naked and wild ambition
laid out for my death and buried deep in a shallow grave

what i love
is good feeling
soft skin
deep breath
and passion driven recklessly
but with meaning and purpose

(for r.a.r.)
O dear giver of bass
strummer of my notes
know ye not how my chords do resonate in your hands?

At your coming
this orchestra begins
Sound loud the cymbal
for I fear not the crash of chaotic cacophony

come now and take pleasure in the comfort of this bosom
into your next symphony she will send you smiling
for hers--
her highs, her lows, her depths, her bounds and even the fruits she bears
--is the majesty of music

(for r.a.r.)
last night i found myself following the voice of direction onto a personal path of pleasure
his bass culled my inhibitions,
bid them ado and went on
sending blazing yellow signals into the blue-black sky
announcing its time had finally come

my temple has not of recent rested so well
eyes have not so justly shut

in the boughs of pleasure's memory--its branches still nearby
--did i find myself comforted and at home
and i do pray
that such a heaven will again hold me safe while i slumber

How I feel (for j.m.m.)

How I feel about you is variable
How I feel about calling and getting no answer, leaving a message and getting no call back is definite
Definite and inconsequential
Because how I feel about you does not yet matter
Because how I feel is not your concern
Nor is it high on my list thereof

How I feel is a conglomeration of ups and downs, warms and cools that keeps me alive
Whether I always like the way it feels

No matter, for it is simply how I feel

Pouring oneself out is freeing and refreshing. Baring of course, but nudity has never felt better.

Today, just now, I wrote the absolute love of my life an email that pretty openly and explicitly declared him to be my one. In it I shared that I believe the vision I was given, with him in the loved position in my life forever, was true and accurate. And for one of the very first times I didn’t feel fear in saying what I would to him—via email, of course, but saying it nevertheless. Unlike some email systems, I do not have a retract key that I can press and undo what I’ve done.

What has been expressed in the words I just sent are now out and available to him.

This society in which I live: United States, New York, we live in constant fear. Fear of loss, fear of love. It’s all very puzzling and indeed quite annoying as well. Mostly because growing up conscious doesn’t stop the chance of falling prey to the oppressing systems, most of which rely on their ability to instill and sustain an attitude of fear in its inhabitants. Yet as I speak against fear, so am I a constant slave to her.

As I try to pry myself from her grip she tightens her fingers around my arm and neck and wills me to stay. And out of fear for, now for my very life, I remain both a victim and a slave and a rent-paying resident.

But just now…for just a brief moment—and these moments do sometimes come—I experienced the freedom of expression, via email to the man I love, my one. I didn’t try to open or shut or even to create any doors. I just laid down what treasures I had at his shore and perhaps my release from fear will do the same for him. I pray him well.

letter from a young poet (for dlm1)

i know you said you always read my emails.
and that even though you may not respond (which you never do) that you'll read it no matter what.

last week, i had a dream mid-week about you. that night i was depressed--mostly too many thoughts of self-pity resulting from having allowed myself to mouth the words that i haven't been on one date this year and my having convinced myself that i'm not desirable on a level other than sexual.
The dream I'd had with you in it left me with one resounding thought that stayed with me even in the few hours i was feeling less than myself.
The thought was one I had hoped to tell you, but because you have mastered the art of disappearance and being accessible only when you want to be and only to whom you desire, I decided that it was more important that I get it out than to wait to reach you. It's clear to me that I also will never know if and when you will have received this message, but I'm not concerned with that.

You are my one.

This is what the night gods brought me last week. "You," references you, with no confusion or chance to disregard the directness of this mention. I believe that you ARE my one--that if time and situation and circumstance and God, minus fear, stubbornness or human interference are the ruling powers, you will be the one to "make me whole," excepting God that is.

I accept this fact with all the peace I had in sleep, and even more, with the peace I was finally able to garner that night during troubled mind state.
I'm communicating it to you because it feels right.

Now, I believe the last time we spoke, I told you I was reading the Autobiography of Angela Davis. If I had an address for you, I would send you a copy, because I have an extra. Alas, I cannot send to an unknown address, but you should pick it up. It's definitely a powerful read--I have yet to reach the halfway mark, but with the work I know you have to do and the goals you have in mind for yourself and future, I definitely think you'll be changed and moved by what's in this book.

Among my next reads, I plan to include: Soledad Brothers, The Tipping Point, Black Power, The Time Traveler's Wife...
The list will never end :)

Maybe you'll join me on this reading rainbow.

It was absolutely wonderful to talk to you for the time we shared (and sang) the other night. Thank you for sticking by such a difficult friend throughout all this time.

You are loved,

As always...

(for cms3)

I think of you when I hear good music
Right now it’s Kenny Garrett
Getting it in my ears

I sit at work and nod my head in beat with the beat
Remember when we sat closed eyed at a small table
Not even concentrating, just vibin
Just feelin and knowin


This is that feeling they always talk about
The one they say is gone
It was there that night
Now it’s here with me in my head

I have to admit
My heart still beats faster
Slows down sometimes
And even stops when there’s the chance of you coming near

What I’m saying is nothing new
It’s come before and will come after me
Cause what I’m hearing and feeling and knowing and going through
Ain’t nothin but the blues

(for g.g.)

It is nice
To have somebody to talk to
Who knows when to speak
And when to silence

Nice to hear music and know there doesn’t have to be a voice in every bar

It’s nice talking to you
It seems you want to know me because we go back
And forth ward I would like to be quite honest
By saying that conversation beats out all the rest of the qualifiers
With me

Nice

Without being too forward I would also like to say
I don’t often come in touch with those who can compete in the word game with me
And I was done with competition a long time ago

But still sometimes it comes down to that
Can you compare to me?
And can you grasp my simplicity?

It really isn’t so hard
Rather soft I’d say

It is a joy, however
And I’d like to make this everclear to you now before I forget and then let it be not said
To communicate
And know it’s effective and functionable
And laughable at
And talkable to

That’s what you are
Talkable to

And I enjoy the niceness of you

--purple--
not too out/not outspoken/but outstanding
unspoken, like love, just is

is you--becomes you

overcomes you

i know who this was for. . . /((cms1)...actually iii)

days are getting fuller
but i'm finding it hard to feel them truly filled
without knowing i can reach out to touch you
could access yr friendship readily
i miss you

please respond to this letter
this honesty
this baring of my truth for you

what year was this?

either they
say they're not worth
my time
too humble
or they aren't worth
my time
--not humble enuf

both ways i end
alone

(for you)

last night after we got off the phone, i admittedly called my friend back who had called me during the last five minutes of our conversation. as you know, i seek counsel in my friends. i told her about what i felt had been our awkward exchange and told her what i didn't tell you: that i don't think we're truly attracted to each other.

i think our recent interaction was one born of the situation at hand--closeness in a time that was rare. i explained my understanding of attraction as the knowing you have when you're around someone who is attracted to you and vice versa. it's something about the way you look in their eyes and they way they talk to you...it's a feeling; something you know just as well as i do because we are one in the same and we want the same things.
i don't feel like we want them from each other though. our friendship is so calm and peaceful and mostly perfect.
and something i just thought about and the reason i'm writing this now is the nost important thought i've had about the whole possibility you raised.

if we did ever try (again) to be us, for me, it would have to be a forever thing. because in that time i would know (or want to know) that we were completely meant to be. with someone like you who i think i know so well, i think the realization that i didn't know you so well would be really weird and somehow painful. and i think maybe i fear the reality of the chance that we may NOT be meant to be. and i don't want to have to face that, because i love you more than you'll ever know.

in this moment, it doesn't seem to me that we have all the essential elements of an everlasting love, or not in a deeper context than the one in which we now exist.

i do do do truly love you and would never even allow the chance to come that you not know that. these are my thoughts, my feelings, my fears.

i didn't want these words to go unsaid.

Our ears
Are plugged into
I podding away at our memories
And threatening to take away our fantasies

Our mouths
moving only to the subliminal messages singing into us

We are consciously sacrificing our subconscious
And
We all fall down

--excerpt--

We had met at the beginning of the third week in June. It was the day after my mother’s birthday and the rain had fallen, leaving the sky red and bursting with energy long into the night.
And that is where we met, at a bar called red sky. He introduced himself and I smiled out of surprise and satisfaction that he’d been able to speak without spewing sexual tension all over the bar floor.
We talked and gestured and laughed and when it was time for me to leave, I stayed to be with him and know him.
He was tall and dark brown skinned. And older. Smart in a powerful way. Intelligent and consciously present for every sound I made. Compelling and in reach.
When he kissed my cheek goodnight, I felt complete, like we had already conquered the beginning and could now move towards the meat of the middle.

(for r.b.)
brown boy. afro. on the street flagging down supershuttle.
ghetto-fabulous.
crown-royal jacket. two men.
tall and short. country and grammar?
we got grammar.

inside:
dark and loud. at 3:45 in the morning!
WHY?
why not sleep?

who knows?
and a white girl.
too much talk.
extra-friendly.
too early.
and my mouth shut in deference to the peace that wishes to surround.
talk, words, talk.
articulate and well-spoken.
he and her.
environmental woes...

knows how to give love?
arkansas, that may explain it.
Hello.
Hello.
Have a great flight.
Politician are you?

[i can't get over crown royal]
and on the way to chicago after liberal vermont and littered on new york.
learn to travel better

what about me?
a look--a brief stare
it is 4 o'clock in the morning!
what do you want from me?
all that noise and you give ME silence?

do i evoke such responses?
(did i forget the pick? and a metal one at that.)



high school and parts of college. even after, i wondered, what's wrong with me?
is it something in my eyes that keeps them away?
i know your whole life story and still no hello.

in college i heard 'intimidated' and i would laugh.
who's afraid of the dark?
get a life and keep it moving.

i didn't want the blame--still don't.

in high school, we decided if they didn't want us they were gay.
but gay is as friendly as they get, isn't it?

then when i moved to new york it was unapproachable.
and i remembered my thoughts as i walked on by:
i dare you.
what could you possibly have for me?
...maybe i did give off the wrong vibe.
so now i'm recreated.
i smile at strangers who take the non-clue and begin to speak.

i don't want to talk to you!
and NO i don't want your number!!!

just smile; it's more that enuf.
satisfaction takes so many different forms.
but this one, crown royal, just like so many, but unique like a very select few.

it's not me, it's you, who speaks to everyone breathing but me.
the people who really matter i suppose.
those who you may never see again. may their lives be touched my your loving-kindness.

of course my "are you my husband?" radar may have been up too high. yes, even at 3:45 in the morning. especially after country turned to grammar.
variegated.
and do i speak?
with no silence it is difficult to (insert word here).
and blank stares have a way of detaining even the most outspoken of us all.
so what of meaning? what words are to be spoken, mr. country man in a liberal town on his way to the area surrounding the big city?
keep looking, never speaking.
and talk to those [women] who do dote on you, knowing the whole time, it is your reality you do avoid.

Mr. Childhood

Men.
With them i share my secrets, or my truths, as there are few secrets with me. In them i see so much hope and determination. A twinkle in their eyes, a smile lodged deep in their cheeks.
Their countenance lights with the sound of children's laughter.

The train's doors close, "ding-dong" and a little boy mocks the sound. Over and over again. Easy to amuse has amused the grown folks. And we all smile because he's brought us some unexpected joy on a rainy day.
The knowing comes to us that we've all wanted to 'ding-dong' ourselves at some point.
We smile because we didn't for shame of being recognized as the children who so badly want release inside of us.
We love noise and laughter.
We love freedom and the sight of a smile on someone else's lips. Teeth bared.

if i say to you 'come'
and draw you near to me
is it biology or chemistry?

Friends (for c.e.)
I was supposed to wash the dishes

what did i expect from the tunnel-visioned girl?
maybe i missed the whole point. we think differently.
it makes us human
and loveable.
or maybe it makes us able to be wrong and still loved.
we think differently.

i didn't wash the dishes.

she sees the goal and attains it.
whereas i see the path to the goal and make my way in the most self-righteous way possible.
and i think God is the ony one entitled to self-righteousness.
because he sent down his son.
so i'm just as wrong in a different way.
and i didn't even was the dishes.

maybe it was my own sense of entitlement.
one man, two women, same man, two sets of lips, two servings of bosom, one set of hands.
and with them he chose her.
but i presented myself in one way and she in another.
but why, friend, did you capitalize on my self-worthlessness?
why is it okay with you?

here is the seed:
if i love my sister, i will not allow her to belittle herself in any way. not as long as i can reach out my arms and hold her close instead of her forcing her way into his undeserving arms.
not as long as i can reach out and smooth down her hair, hide her brastrap, wipe her tears.

friend, i may have missed out on the rules of friendship.
but i know too well the rules of engagement for a sister.

i was misunderstood
and i have misunderstood you and misplaced you
but now, friend, i know you very well

and sister you may never be, but friend til eternity

what if
i love you from a distance
and we never
get to hold one another?
does that mean we're not real?

does my love make you love me too?
are we? or is it just me?

what if
love at first sight
is all we have
and all there ever will be?
does that mean we're just a memory?
or can we extend the boundaries of time and remember each other's eyes
always

Unfiled (for m.s.)
i was always too open for you
too much for you to handle
too many words written
too much ink spilled
too much emotion spent

letters i wrote to you were too much

did i feel too much?
is there such a place?
time always seems against me
and distance and ambition
lonely
is my best friend

you were one of the men i could always call on
and hear a warm voice
i always felt near and never annoying

so i don't know how it ended
i don't even know her name or all of who she is
is she the one?
is she kind and does she wish for you the absolute best?

i don't know, with all the hurt i hold given by you, if i could ever see you again
like i did before

when i do see you,
my heart will skip

and my breath will pause for just
a brief second
but after the silence, there will be voices all around
and all the memories will be like mosquitoes all around
biting at me, stealing my very blood, but unworthy of any real time

all the real time fell away through all the years we wasted on the idea that things just happen
because passive living is only for some
not i

what i used to believe is long gone
as is everything that came with it
you

we are long gone and all done

(for d.m.2)
Every moment I spend without you is a second missed
Your name repeats itself
My brain echoes the memories we shared
Together is a place we have never seen
A world I dreamt of
I airbrushed skies with rainbows from my childhood and made you part of my happiness

Eternal

You were the answer for so long

Still my mind, she races back to you each time
Pacing herself
Bracing herself for a fall
Tripping on the silences
Undialed phone calls are small hurdles compared to the scheduled pickups that were never picked up
Seductions never seduced
Hugs never held

‘round the bend she runs
Catching the wind only to come back around again

She knows no end
There is no finish line
Because you are not and never were there

She dances to the tune of her own music
Alone

In her own arms
Stuck forever in reverie of you with me

what if you were her reason for living. . .loving?
When you left her, did you leave her to find more from life?
Or was her fortitude all in you?

Trust not in man

But she did
In this man was her trust

Too late to replace?
Never too late to trust in God

No. (for j.w.3)

We can't make love tonight. Perhaps the time will come, but it is not now. And if again you hear me say no, i don't ever want you to think i'm saying it as a form of rejection.
i could never reject you. I don't say no because i don't love you. it's because i love myself more and i always will.
is that an alright place for you?
can you accept being next to me, sometimes even behind? never ahead?

With this mind and these questions am i failing to love?
Jesus. . .God

for god so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth on him should not perish but have everlasting life

if God be in me and i step behind you in this life, haven't i put you before God?
But if i see the God in you and in me and we are one, then He lives in and with us,
so neither can ever be before or behind, but together.
for there is no longer a you or an i.
just us, only we.

only God.

(for j.w.3)
You handed my voice back to me the night I realized I wasn’t alone in this journey to self knowledge
On which there can and will be snares and tears
And I think you may just be as afraid as I am

I see you through the darkness of my room
I lay in my bed, my head nappy and loose
My chest free and my spirit opened wide for you

I say to you that I enjoy the peace of your spirit
I enjoy allowing it to lead me where it does
Calmly laying its hands wherever it pleases

I enjoy the lightness of the moments I share and the cool breath I feel on my skin when I listen for your voice
Always with a soothing beat
Drumming softly in my ears
And me always searching the database in my brain for more than one way to connect to you

I say to you loosely ‘eclectic’ and a dam falls out of place
Water begins rushing towards me
I have released a flood and ‘sorry’ and ‘I didn’t mean’ step up and assume position as I will the sky to remain cerulean
Not yellow
Or red like the night we met when words came easy and fear was as far as a country called cuba

Distance is a very real thing
Though intangible it has the potential to kill things that have been given life

Ahh but the sight of ink sunken into trees that know the direction of the wind
The images created by the mind in absence are stronger
They hold a depth that may be overlooked
Glossed over like photo paper, developed and made to seem unreal

But so far as real is the magic of belief in the unknown
I shall hold onto the unrealistic dreams that make their way into our minds
Periodically tabling our hopes into this galaxy we call home
Each idea holding its place as a star in the vast deep blue
Up above our heads someone is dancing a freedom step
Letting go of the rules that lock us out from possibility

Step, bounce, step, lift
Head up, arms out
Eyes on me

No matter how new each day may seem
I will be the bark of the trees
The stones beneath your feet
The clouds above head, puffing up your ego
Rain that falls, giving breath to life not yet born
The song that comes in the nighttime and brings you peace
I will be the sun shining beneath your eyelids when you slumber
And like a recurring pain in your knee, I long to plague you with the goodness of memories

A muscle flexed among arms intertwined
Soft lips brushing soft lips brushing soft lips brushing skin to skin
Rubbing and sweating
A heartbeat
Eyes locked over two glasses of honey-filled goblets
And an apology for time wasted or not well-spent

Embraced against the pattern of Brooklyn streets
Tree and garbage lined
Rock solid footing
Face to face with your reality though unrealistic she may be

She is
As real as you are willing to make her
Make her your reality and she will fall
Bare and barely there

But hold me
Hold me in synapses of your mind
And let us reconnect and create memory over and under and throughout this so real distance so as to mold unrealistic dreams into breathing, moving reality

(for j.w.3)
My friends
They tell me to have fun
In dating and getting to know people and when it becomes no longer fun to let it go

But see I have this difficulty in separating fun with the constant thought of the possibility of the future

Like, well this is fun
Can it be fun for a long time?
Can I hold onto it?
I hope so cause I like it a lot

And I was there
In that moment where it was fun to just kiss and tell
And smile
And act like I cared
But then he got hurt and called me crying
And I don’t want to be the one making tears fall
But I don’t wanna cry either

His name is unspoken
But he speaks to me often
When he wants to
And he likes it
And I like being thought of

I also like not having to do much else than breathe
But I know this is temporary
And I don’t like temporary arrangements

And I don’t like having to hold onto these pieces of what will eventually be the past in hopes that it will one day become a future
If it looks good why can’t I have it now?

Are we all in some hilarious game of limbo
Waiting for the pole to drop
Knock us out and then back into consciousness where we’ll finally be not trying to set up our lives anymore?

I want to have fun
I want to meet people
But then no I don’t
I want to meet some ONE
I don’t need more than one

But I think he, the one without name, is just into having fun
After all he’s only here for a while and he might as well live it up

At the end, perhaps he’ll say something wonderful and romantic like
These past few weeks/months have been wonderful
I’ll think of you always while I’m away
And every time I’m home we’ll be together

I don’t know
May not be good enough
This may not be the answer

there was a time when i would think of you and smile
that time has passed
but i think i see it now again in the horizon

your voice in my ears sounds good
if i read you i can hear you

in my mind you are here

here you are

(for j.r.)
A girlinmyoffice left crying today
Wet crowded hereyes when she came over to me,
Tiredandoverworn but openarmed and still full of heart,
Asking the simple
Grabherid
Left on her desk
She needed to leaveforher papi
It might be the last time she gets to see him
Shewas rushing to the cold place full of life on the brink of change
And sudden death

She was trying to stay stonecold
Officelike and right
And she came to me because I am her officialbackup
I hold her up when her back gives up

She came to me and I knew
it was timetomovefastbecauselifewasbeingheld
for this moment
She was rushingtothankgod for years given close to the beloved
whose time it was to go soon
And I responded
Walked straight pastthemorons with
big names and even bigger titles
The heartlessandprofessional loveless
They love less and she came to me

Was it because sheknewIwould know?
And knew I did not really belong?


I know I am a world different than the waters in which I now tread
My breath stops just short of deep these days in fear that if I do inhale complete, I will choke
and die
and my life is not theirs for take
is not yours to fill,
you with no regard to personal space and business
life is not a business
mine is not your business
and maybe that is what the girl with the tears knew
her business was hers until she wanted to share it and with whomever that was
and they are not welcome

Sunburn (for adam)

I was thinking about you on the train today
About how ink is so much deeper than these micros we use to try to express
And I wondered if it’s even worth it to really try to spill ones self electronically
Because there is nothing really to spill
Ink blots and feelings can be smudged and words can literally be shaped
Circles and lines misfigured in a moment with no notice
A hiccup
A sneeze
A random reflex
A phone call that interrupts the flow

You would never know of all this with a well-constructed email
But the hand
It seems the hand can tell no lies
In its pain we find ourselves stepping towards glory
How far we get is lodged between desperate desire and blood rushed necessity to win the war of mind over matter

And does it matter?
Or better, do you mind if these words reach you electronically and are from my mind?
Would you mind getting to know me?
To be the recipient of every thought I have?
It might be fun to be that close
Then again, it may just hurt

No one should stare directly at the sun—you’d go blind
But you can still get all the nutrients you need just from standing in its heat

So I suppose if this is me being real with you
Being straight-up and honest with you
Just like I want to be
This is me asking you how close you want to be to blind?

Somebody had to prove it didn’t they?

What is your goal? And are you afraid of sunburn?

i had only been waiting about a month when the letter finally came. resurrection had not only lifted jesus, but me too and i was still high and not coming down soon from the spirit of God.
i walked into my apartment, phone in hand at ear and my mind was slightly attentive to the voice of my linesister, whom i do deeply love. and there it was sticking out from my door. this large-ish envelope from USPS with a smaller envelope inside. not that i could see the writing, because i couldn't. my eyes had computer glaze permanently stuck in them and there is no definition anymore. but i knew it was from him. my friend who i have loved since forever, but for us time and energy never collided.

so i came in and ripped it open, not expecting too much but knowing something was there to be held onto, just like all the words we ever shared. rip, rip. tear, snatch, open!!!
and finally a small slip of paper along with a brochure for something--i'd read it later. eyes scan, heart listen. phone call over.

okay, reread.
words, meaning, feeling, care all there on the paper and then...what? what cd? wait. there was something missing--now i knew why the larger envelope had been there at all. the smaller envelope had been entered against its will and the music was gone and i was there. left shouting into some unearthly void, hoping to transport my angst to another continent because...because i needed more. and the more i needed was too far away to be placed on my desk of will dos and keepsakes. and the sound of music presently eluded me and all there was was a silence of a poor kind, barking below, and keys on a music-less keyboard that would hopefully say the words to bring it back to me. the rhythms the songs the melodies the richness of it all--the reason for each selection that was to have been given to me. not here and not now mine. but i was there and i was looking for what i hoped wasn't lost forever. because lost forever is a very bad place to be.

so i began on the quest to find all of what was mine and to make it, quite literally, music to my ears.

for m.h.
maybe it wasn't you
maybe it was van hunt himself
in my ears
flowing through me
falling me to sleep
touching me all over
entering my body and staying there

not moving, but holding position until further notice
but whoever it was or is
he came into my space
and now that you're gone i smile
i prefer the memory to sleep

laying in my bed late friday night i held my eyes tight and saw into myself
the black that makes me me
and in that depth--all of its knowns and unknowns--there was a goodness recently discovered
you excavated the site and found me
and i am full with passion and filled with a joy that is real and rich

i walked down the street in shorts and flip-flops
brooklyn pavement below me stirred up a mess of grit and grime as rain fell from on high
and as i kept pace and teeth chattered, a grace surrounded me and i walked high on spirits and life
and it feels good to know how good i feel

i suppose
this is all to say
thank you for reopening this closed case
and thank you for rousing me from my uncomfortable would have been sleep to write you this song
alive in my ears
and you
live in your body
until we again come to sing the same song

I’d seen him when he’d gotten on. He was carrying a big red folder, thick with papers and what looked like what was most important to him in life cause he was holding it tight to his chest like he didn’t want nobody to take it from him.
He got on before the really tall white man in the gray suit stood in front of me. Boy was he tall! His head almost touched the ceiling he was so tall.

I was knitting and another girl’s music was going through my head cause her ipod was playing to the public through her headphones. Some kinda jazz music. Sounded a little bit like Kenny g, so I wasn’t too upset at the peace being disturbed.
Anyway, I think the girl musta gotten off cause after a while I heard his voice. I don’t know why I knew it was his voice. Or how even.
But I knew.

He was motioning to the girl in fronta him to do something. I never figured it out though. Got distracted I suppose. Between his smile and her suit.
She was asian maybe. I never saw her face. But she was wearing a nice suit. It almost looked handcrafted and it suited her body well. Fuschia and purple checkered with a mermaid bottom in the back. And it was wool I think. The jacket and skirt matched and she looked real nice. She had on her ipod so I wonder if she even heard him when he called her classy. He seemed real happy to have her standing in front of him. I thought maybe they were gonna fall in love like they always do in those new york love story movies. I think it woulda worked out real good cause he was wearing a plaid-like shirt (flannel I think) and I think he had on jeans and a pair of work boots. But he still had that big folder that made me at least think he was a hard worker and up to something great.
And other than the whole hanging cord business (which, it seemed to me she was tryin to pull through her clothes but from where he was sitting in front of her he could see the path of it much better) you woulda never expected the two of them to be talking in the first place. I mean, he was a older man—maybe almost 40 and she was round my age I could tell. And it wasn’t that they shoulda connected—I didn’t know neither one of em from night or day—but they did seem to get along for those few minutes. And then he stood up after a little while longer of her fumbling with that cord and him smiling his straight-white toothy grin to let her sit down where he had sat. I thought that was nice.

But it turns out he was getting off. And it turned out that was my stop too. And that’s all I know about them. Maybe they were good friends who just happened to see each other and start to smiling. Either way, made it a nice ride to think about for the day.

(for c.s.)
have you ever felt a way about somebody where you just couldn't let go?
and if you did you'd be letting go of yourself

ever fallen asleep to the rain and when you woke, it was still storming?

i loved a man
a musician
and we loved
he played while i wrote
and we loved

one time he kissed my neck
and i didn't even catch the fire until he was long gone
too wrapped up in the moment to live it
our goodness was too good to me and in its presence i didn't know whether to be thankful or timid
and i don't do timid

so now
years later
i kind of
pretty regularly
almost daily now
call
or stalk
my once in a lifetime love

i know he still plays piano
now he plays me too
morning and night
his touch is my response

in the time between the second i love you and the voice that came aferwards there was a pause
an "oh my god, did she just say that?" breath
a "..........huh?" lift in the air
scene

what will he do now he knows?
is he still packing?
does a smile form now that she has confirmed her love as true?

what does it mean?
they both wonder

she knows her love is real
his love was real first
does that lessen hers?

the difference between a word and a feeling
how do you ever know if they match?

can you know or do you just pray on it and then stand still?

he is dazed and a bit confused
maybe i should have seen her before i left
i regret not seeing her more

or perhaps
she doesn't know what she's talking about
she's young
she just missed me and it made her think she loves me but i know she doesn't (because i know all) and all there is to know is that i loved her first and she didn't love me back and now we're done with that...especially since i'm gone

i'm going
back...home?
back to where i'll be
without her
and far away

did i tell her to visit me?
that she would know where i was and how to find me?
i know i said too much
how did i let her get to me like this?
who IS she?

i think i hate her
for doing this to me and leaving me with no choice in the matter

is it possible to get caught up, alone?

and if it is, is it worth the feeling?
or is it absolutely completely necessary to be joined in holy matrimony?

is one heart full of love enough to satisfy this life?

she smiles
because she's already done all her thinking and wondering and even a bit of worrying
and she knows what it feels like to love and not be loved back

but she is not worried about that
her love is enough to fill the glass full
to make it capsize and drown in its own thoughts

he is to her the feeling of being wanted
love?
of being wanted in a real way
love?
lust

is it love?
does she love him?
or does she lust him?
and does he love her?

is there any love in it at all?
love needs lust, yes?
so where does one end and the other begin?
and has love had a chance in this time-limited atmosphere?

well, who knows?
neither she nor he

but they do feel
and what is felt has been shared
and perhaps that is all anyone ever needs

you are

between the ocean and the sea
between here and reality
what is standing between you and me?
destiny and what will be

Copyright © 2006 by Arin Lawrence

teddy

warm and soft
always soft
and fuzzy maybe
but not too fuzzy
not fuzzy enough that he would shed in my bed
because it was still my bed

i've never been good at sharing
i have a sister and if she hates me because of it i couldn't argue or be upset

i'm not selfish though
i just am not good at sharing

not even with the teddy bear i bought myself after i realized i was not the girl who would receive gifts from men

grammar school and i was already making conclusions about the life i would live
how it would look and feel

and i just knew it wouldn't be full with teddy bears
at least not ones i didn't buy myself
no gifts for me

i had seen the gargantuan dog/stuffed animal (what do they stuff those big things with?!)
my friend had received from one of her boyfriends (VERY important distinction)

so i had very high expectations
not so much for that year
but yes, in life

they never realized
my expectations for stuffed animals i mean, not my actual obtaining of teddy bears (or stuffed animals--a much lesser distinction)
because i did indeed begin getting teddy bears, and other stuffed things
because i like the softness of them all
and the closeness they allow me
and i said to myself, "self, you are in control of your destiny. if YOU want teddy bears and stuffed animals, you better dig in those pockets of yours and keep yourself warm, cause ain't nobody gonna do for you what you can't do for yourself!"

i feel in control of my relationships with the stuffed lifelessness of them
i can bring them close or toss them around
if i don't agree with the way they are acting, i can forget about them for days--months even

i found my loving black dog underneath my bed after months of wondering, "now where is he?" but never really acting on my wonderment

i was alright alone
because i'm used to sleeping alone

and perhaps it all comes full circle
because once you get used to something that seems so foreign to the rest of creation you become unlike the rest
and your actions fall from the norm and become
taboo

not sweet as taboo
not sweet at all actually
more like lonely as taboo

this is my story
of how i became so self-sufficient

and how i walk around single
always
and maybe will
always

how i'm okay with it most of the time
don't think about it more than half the time, unless someone momentarily peaks my interest

until they fade away into the back rooms of my memory
disappear into wardrobes of my mind and become worlds i...may have one day known, but i'm not actually quite so sure whether they were really real or, "was that a dream??"

how things outside of myself really are all wonderfully soft, but honestly un- or at least underappreciated beautiful black teddy bear-like stuffed dogs that may one day resurface as a lost love of mine

and even when refound is still part of the past
only to be registered as such and thrown in a basket

so i can look at them and remember sometimes
and wonder, "now why didn't i do something more with them?"
or think, "sure would've been nice..."

as if it wasn't my own fault that the knocking of opportunity
that the warmth that could have been
and the wealth of softfeelings i would have garnered from just the chance to be close--even if momentarily awkward or uncomfortable--was lost to the time i sat around talking about all the should haves and could haves i could have had

Copyright © 2006 by Arin Lawrence