Sunday, September 22, 2019

Hug

It’s a good day for a hug,
raining though thin flannels,
gray and autumn drizzled on a rusty bicycle
chained to lean forlornly on the fence.

I’m gay today, but that’s just another day, really,
and I want to hold that You in an embrace,
that You I assume (with no small amount of entitlement)
I will meet or have met.

It’s a good day for a hug,
whether you are a hugger or not,
when the concussion machine
fills every neighbor’s mouth across the country,
and traumatic injuries compound.

No one smells good,
not on their own,
without the help of commodities
if you have never learned what someone’s body smells like.


September 22

Sunday, September 15, 2019

I remembered a dream

It was a good day
yesterday
but I woke up from another dream
I’d remembered in weeks
leg under leg
like you never ever used to sit
on a beach
an unlikely visit
I had wrestled with
public transit
all of the way there
I wished this was something I could figure
out is that
old love
proof I could only do it for you
or that I would never
love
someone else


September 15

Friday, September 13, 2019

I was afraid to read that book

I was afraid to read that book
Of poems about black women and history
Displayed in the “African American Studies” nook
Of A Room of One’s Own. It’s no mystery

I felt I was not worthy
Of its power or its secrets
By the virtue of my birth. “He
Is too hard on himself?” Yeah, I have regrets

About leaving it behind
On the shelf.
How many times had I declined
These kind of opportunities to challenge myself?

I promised I’ll return for it,
Like other books I have refused,
But promises are forfeits
When my ego gets scuffed and bruised.


September 13

Lake Park

I am falling up a slide
At the amusement park the next town over
A toehook to the navel,
An attractive force dragging towards

The slide built by people both not and like me
Who planned it, designed it, paid for it,
I go up wooshing I could stop

To beat the crowds
We would visit on cloudy days
After dinner
To beat the crowds it was easy
I barely worked and found myself in positions of leverage,

At some point I worked there, too,
Attending to games while families who looked nothing like me collected in lines
Spending their money on cheap toys
And I was there smug
I would spend my money on CDs

I am shaking hands with Donny,
At least in my imagination,
And I know I won’t return for another summer
I will never have to do this to survive

I am falling up a slide
A decade later
It’s not too late, is it?
Can I turn myself around
And come back down where you are?


September 13

Thursday, September 12, 2019

I Asked You Not To Say

I asked you not to say
“I could never take machine learning
with him. I would kill myself.”
or anything like that
I shared my stories

I didn’t want to police your speech
control what you said
but less than a week later you said
“after that exam I just wanted
to kill myself”

and all I felt was sad
maybe you had tried
or you had never listened in the first place


September 11

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

Long term communication

It will take time for you to get this message,
Snail mailed, or telegraphed,
It will take time for me to write it you,
I will cry into the pages.

It will take a week for you to get this message,
Two thousand miles of postage,
I will run to the mailbox as fast as possible.
It will take little time to put it inside.

It will take time for you to respond to me,
Peacefully sleeping for once,
It will take two weeks later to hear back,
I will find your reply and leave it facedown.

It will take time for me to get your message,
Snail mailed, appreciative,
I will cry into the pages,
It will take time for me to sleep peacefully.


September 10

New Math

That’s not new math at all
That’s old math
That’s cold & dead math

That’s past & pasteurized,
Unread & rasterized

That’s not your math
Functionally & analytically
I squint at the numbers


September 9