claire can't see me.

a mom who is cooler in words than in life.

Archive for love

free write: yellow brick road girl.

ease on down, mister, & let me lie an explanation
in the psalm of your hands
because religiously i am lost
but here in our chapel i am holy Married
to the sweet hymn of our collective misguidance
you the tin man
crumpled under the weight of your shoulders
& me, the wizard disguised as Dorthy
hidden, yet unassuming
i am the yellow brick road
golden with good intentions
& merriment
& no clear direction as to how i got this far
from a proper introduction
one where i don’t whisper crucial facts
or send smoke signals that resemble heart shaped clouds
you don’t know me aloud
with you i neither roar nor wail
i ease
i ease
i ease
on down the road, paved & golden
with no clear direction
as to where i’m leading you next.

(practice)

i’m going back over the draft titles of posts that i meant to write and decided that this would make go practice for me. please note this is not meant to be good. just an excercise to getting back into the swing of words.

he’s not a god.

& yet & still & til this day
my memory bends & breaks
at his feet
my body weeps
folded over into an origami bird
flightless beauty of manipulation
turned art
that easily rips apart
i am devout to disaster.

dear lawd

i forgive u
& i don’t know if gawds can be forgiven
but zora said that we fashion gawds in our own image
& i know how guilt ridden i can be
so, i forgive you for taking my momma
& i understand you wanted good company.

don’t go too far

one day they’ll leave
they’ll sneak their life in a bookbag
or let sum boy/girl borrow it
they’ll ration my portion of it
to minute replies of “everything’s fine”
when i ask to be invited into their day
they’ll assign me as spectator
& store the remaining truths in their locker at school
i know that one day
they’ll question my relevance
&  snicker over their bare shoulders going out the door
bubble gum flavored breath will blow across the threshold
when i talk
i know they won’t be able to hear me over the speakers in their mind
bumping someone’s advice that’s easier to dance to then my complicated jazz
& i’ll have to rifle through their thoughts to find evidence to prove our once upon a time friendship
i know it will all come to soon
they’ll be ready to leave before i’m ready to let go
but i hope i can convince them to not go too far.

its not a love story

when i said goodbye
he searched my eyes for reason
&  then he realized
my pupils were only pools of mud
& not amber
my face was a collection of mismatched memories
& not a horizon of stars
my name was not a melody of syllables
but rather unrhymatic complications to tongues.

& he no longer needed an answer
he could see  it himself
we were not a love story
just a plot twist.

dinner time tales

amiia: jordan was fighting again today, mommy.
me: what happened?
amiia: well he was yelling at parker. he was yelling “YOU LYIN ME”
me: what?
amiia: yeah, he kept screaming out “YOU LYIN ME”
me: hmm..
amiia: i didn’t jump in their business but i did whisper to myself.
me: what did you say?
amiia: *with her pointer finger extended upwards* fragment sentence.

yep, i’ll keep her!

because i do.

you can’t tell me differently. i just know that i am married to the greatest person ever born. its nearly been 10 years & still the sound of his keys in the door send butterflies racing through my entire nervous system. he is it. the reason for kisses. & i’m sure this is just the poet in me that feels this but, but i just know that i was born to love him. a tarrot card reader told me that i married my soulmate.

but, does he get on my damn nerves? of course!

i’ve gotten into a lot of discussions about love with married friends. & being that i tend to be the youngest in my group, i’m always seen as niave for feeling this way. i told one person that i loved him more than i loved myself because i had full confidence that he was doing the same. her smirk was so telling. in that moment she wished me failure just to prove her bitterness was relevant. & i don’t mean bitter in an evil way. but in a way that you want to know the technique behind the magic to reassure yourself that magic is not real. because if magic was real, it would unravel that which you’ve come to know, believe, & live your life according to.

i’m just saying….i like the youth of my love. when the world is too realistic & the people are all too logical…i can come home to my fairytale. my magic.

i’m not looking for smoke & mirrors. just enjoying the show.

a forced goodbye.

there are some things that will never change. life & death for sure top the list. people come, & thus they must as well return from whence they came.

but today, i don’t want to know those facts. my inner child has just been handed back to me. the vessel of magic, of wonderment, the ultimate definition of imagination is dead & gone. before a collective apology could be issued, before amends could be made, with a joke on our breath & a rumor in our ear…he left this world greatly misunderstood. i grieve for our loss. a human being that gave years of his life to be the center attraction of the circus we requested. we asked for more each time. more answers. more reasons. he asked us to suspend belief & we said define yourself. explain yourself, michael. why do you…who are you…

& so goes the machine. but here’s what i remember.

jackson 5 was the music throughout the house. a time beyond me. watching my mom swoon. watching my stepdad groove behind her. the music that was the glue that held my makeshift family together. it was barbecue music, when ol’ school crew got their chance to shine. “you don’t know bout this here”…& we didn’t. but we laughed just the same. & when we fell in love, we searched through our mother’s tapes to find the right words to fit the feeling. we were michael fans by proxy, by new edition & bobby brown. by tevin campell & hi-five. by the boys. we too young to know the meaning of “off the wall”, but we were influenced by his influence on the world around us.

i know i’m a generation too late but still..michael has powered every roadtrip. has sponsored the best moments of spontaneous sing-a-longs. is the safest music to play around the babies. will always represent the good moments of family. & maybe that’s why so many of us brown children are sad today. because michael’s music represented our family reunions, our cook outs, our grandmother’s getting up to boogie. his music was the soul train line that every generation could act a fool to. he sparked history lessons by uncles, with the cigarette safely lodged between lips. we could see the teenager in our aunties,  the shadow of their former shape outlined in their thick bones when they danced. michael was very much family. always in attendance & always on time.

& his death reminds me that i’ll never get a chance to cry at his concert.

goodbye, michael.

i thank u & i apologize, in the same breath.