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

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

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

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

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