aayoungwe go through the motions
nods, hellos, & how are yous
eyes casting down not to impose
swallowed back into a mask that is saving humanity
but depriving us of dimples
a curl at the corner of a wink and a smile
warm creases telling jokes
knowing microexpressions
laugh lines
that dopamine rush of connectivity
that reminds us why
we fight to stay alive
what it is to be human
remember to look up
into my eyes
you have descended
from indigenous medicine women
and girl scout goddesses
you came into this life
with power that takes growing
into
head held high
with strong female role models
confidence you will cultivate
by surviving pain
rising to challenges
you’re finding out
you’re stronger than you know
by
creating your own peace
owning your joy
making happiness your choice
remembering you have endured
their belittling words
because
they need to feel better than you
because they have nothing to be proud
how sad is that
pity them
waste no time on bitterness
take comfort
people like this are their own reward
you will rise above their words
you will outlive their petty hearts
the world fears all shades of women and girls
who believe in themselves
do not ever give a bad person
the power
to make you feel like
you are less
to make you ashamed of the way you are woven into the fabric of our universe
or that it is anything but
perfectly divine
to be you
they creep up on you suddenly
when you aren’t looking for
perfect
these moments when you realize
you have everything you ever
wanted
and you aren’t sure how to process
this much joy
at least everything that went wrong
prepared you to recognize
what is right
light a candle for the lost
they’ve earned it
the creature lighted
on my window
for a moment
before returning to the sky
as if to remind me
though wings become tattered
it is still
entirely possible
to fly
old lovers hell bent
would have us dress in mourning clothes
.
for them
our dead love
they will never accept
our rejection of black
.
it is an abyss
a futile endeavor
tulip bulbs planted in drying cement
unable to blossom
.
no, no
we must never yield to this
.
as it is my nature
to move forward
grow toward the sunlight
moving my body
.
swaying salome
.
swooning to the music
.
the beauty of life in every note
whilst performing
.
the dance of the seven veils
perhaps my very existence
invites your lips
.
however you are the reason
i’ve taken to writing invisible love poems
in the finest of rust belt drinking establishments
.
my fingertips tracing desires
through saturday night flooded bar top wastelands
of dissipating beer foam and 7 and 7’s gone errant
.
i’ve become convinced jesus won’t return
to fly us all back to glory land on his private salvation jet
unless i have a bottle of wild turkey in my left hand
and your hand in my right
stumbling through 3 a.m. street lamp heavens
beside a monument to our first kiss
.
i’ve watched the english patient twice for chrissakes
my nights have become ee cummings sketches
.
your absence is cause enough for perfume
.
we could be a kate chopin novel
.
i want to share with you everything of value i know
i want to give you all my favorite books
i want to be the woman who pulls you into her
when you’ve stepped too close to the edge of the subway platform
i’ll teach you which one the salad fork is without anyone taking a hint
.
i’ll tell you the dirtiest jokes i know in crowded elevators
i’ll buy us an old plymouth just so
i can lean over from my best girl shotgun seat
and unlock the driver’s door for you
before we head to the drive-in
.
i want to learn to knit
just so i can knit you an ugly afghan
to cover you up with on the couch
when my fried chicken and a novel
have conspired to take you
into blissful sleep adrift
.
give you passed out kisses you’ll never know about
and present you with the perfect hangover cure
coffee made and aspirin come christmas morning
.
i want to be the woman who loves you so well
she remembers
to grab the reading glasses you always forget
before we walk out the door
of this daydream
in which
i am perfectly content
.
this will be the time of my life
i summon as i near death
beautiful with
the simplicity of a crisp t-shirt
sliding over my willing breasts
.
the happiest days
to be carried with me
when angels
call me home to rest
.
the bourbon queen
shall die content
surrounded
by the love she has given
.
there is a limit to the penance
one can pay
for a sin someone else
carved recklessly
lover’s initials and pierced hearts
into pomegranate tree flesh
.
bury me beside the little white chapel
in Sardis, Kentucky
next to my daddy
.
it will be the first time
his bones
will make
for good company
.
.
atop a Tibetan mountain
peaking through
a perfect cloud
i will take high tea
with the dalai lama
the platters
pots
and cups
brought to us
upon the backs
of meticulously trained
boston terriers
billy goats
and bull frogs
who
when given honey
wag away happily
his holiness will tell me a bad joke
as he pours
“Why is the Christian heaven paved with gold, but covered in newspaper?
Angel poop.”
to which i counter
“How do you make the universe laugh?
Tell it your plans…”
we giggle into our tea cups