“You’re living at a time of extremism, a time of revolution, a time when there’s got to be a change. People in power have misused it, and now there has to be a change and a better world has to be built and the only way it’s going to be built is with extreme methods. And I for one will join in with anyone, I don’t care what color you are, as long as you want to change this miserable condition that exists on this earth. Thank you.” Bookmark and Share Bookmark and Share



9.24.2006

the song

So I’m walking from work and a distant sense of guilt arises from my chest. The object of this feeling is a love that was lost, a irreconcilable relationship. How she adored me so? And how I gave her so much of myself. It stings to remember that I couldn’t give her me. The me that she wanted more than Africa, Jeff and the late night prayer walks. I could have. We sat in that restaurant and I told her of the fear that kept us apart. She told me she’d never leave. But even heroines grow weary and lose sight. She lost me when her impatience took reign. My fear and her frustration: separation, distance and ultimately relocation. Where have you gone, you with hair like the sea. I rode there in the canoe we created. It was costly.

What did it cost you -----? Do you ever consider my condition? I reflect on yours often. If you could have run to mind, I would have found you. But your back, it gave way. It couldn’t bear the toils and shit of false confession.

Under that tree I found you, sinking, sliding, sitting at the base of my ‘fro. You called it yours when you knew it was Ghandi’s. You called it yours when you knew I was far. You asked me if I liked her. I liked you. I liked you. I liked you.

Do you recall that snowy night when I gave you that pill? I placed it deep. Who could have found it but her? Did you vomit it out when I fell asleep? Go back to that apartment and find it and look at it. Tell me if it still makes you melt when I sang to you: my off key-no-high-note-hitting behind. I let you hear me moan like a dying child. I cried before you like a broken widow. I gave it to you. So find that pill.

We drove in my car listening to Jewel. You put your hand on my knee and reminded me of God. I looked over at you with your legs crossed and saw us in a cloud. We traveled far that day.

I would have walked, walked off that cliff for you. Could you see me over the edge of vulnerability? Sinking, soaring down in a fit of ecstasy and reason—for you. Find that pill and call it home. Put it under your left armpit and do the chicken until it dissolves back into your skin. I took a picture of you nude in my mind of minds. I loved you. I showed you the veil and removed it—why not wait -----?

At the edge of remorse and dimples I find you searching. Where have you gone? I told Missy to tell you I care. But that caring hurts like mothers who love too much. I am your mom, so get the fuck out of the house and go back to college! Two and a half years is not enough. And when you come back you’d better have a husband or a degree, preferably both. –Mom

I took a picture of you when you were on our hardwood floor, barely smiling. You looked like a woman, like a graduate. I had a hard on, not for you, just because. Your hair looked like a stormy wave on my floor. I told you not to move, because “you look(ed) beautiful.” You lied still but your eyes wandered. I thought I was your husband: Your Dwanye. Am I the one who should have run toward you, with arms flailing like you would have done? You caught me off guard. I was there, we were there, in Harlem and suddenly, the pill. Visible to me. How could it be? I should have told you not to be afraid, that I was a man who made manly decisions, but I wasn’t. No I need someone to make me forget, make me forget, make make me forget. I don’t want to see African under my eyelids, I don’t want to see a brunette and Nikons give me flashbacks to strong to live under. I know you are whole, healed: sanctified, delivered, but I’m not that holy yet. I still love.

The prospect of moving seems fatal but feasible. Ascertainable. Questionable. Will someone hold my hand and bring me to forget about that pill and all it contains? Else I will be mad, roving, ranting, craving. Craving cannolis, craving short cotton t-shirts, craving more. Realistically, more than I can take. More than I care to admit. That fucking pill. You saw it first! Why?

What does your mind do when it sees me? Does it recoil like a fatigued penis or does it dart like shadows under fluorescents? I needed you there. I needed to hear you call my name; to face your shoulders toward me and mash your head between my chest. I needed to call you mine. Is my love unrequited still? Like a solitary jellyfish washed ashore, am I that sullen?

You should have waited for me to take you away.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

certainly not about tasha..so who.. someone with a j perhaps? the plot thickens the world is against you..i wait for you to quit..

Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
anonymous too said...

When someone is concerned about their own anonymity they should have the decency to refrain from name dropping... especially when they're not positive who it's about-it's just ignorant.

Diva said...

All so foolish!! Sad women who can't let go. And now he's married, almost 3 years, with a 2nd baby on the way and you still can't let go?!?!?! The time to grow is now. Move on