Fate of Heaven

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Photo by Meireles Neto on Unsplash

Fate of Heaven

Waking up to us
was always the worst,
wasn’t it?

Surely you felt the same
rolling over and seeing
my displeasure at a
brand new day, didn’t you?

Do you have any idea
how many poems
I’ve written about you
only to have to file them away,

snuffing-out their wicked truths
like so many birthed stars
that ate through their fair
share of hydrogen

long before Ra set
the table for you and me
to ignore our own nature?

Can you fathom how every kiss shared
will be compared to the caramel of your lips
nibbling mine in our candlelit shame
of being exactly who we are

exactly where we wanted to be,
exactly beneath the weight of
who we wanted pressed into our flesh
exactly the way we needed?

Do you also wish to shake
the morning gate of heaven
to its foundation for fating us
a taste of what could be,

only to allow our respective free will
to choose to loosen our firm midnight grip
on respective flesh before the black sky
blushed soft purple with promise of new day

separating me from you
as earth from firmament,

forming boundaries everywhere
instead of simply being
happily entangled in
undefined twilight?

On some level, I know
you were just as selfish,
just as grateful for those broad,
quiet charcoal strokes

shared in faint starlight,
silently sucking our
pigment from sundown,

but no matter our
moon-soaked efforts,
morning always comes,
doesn’t it?
***

A Duet the Wind Called Fleeting

A Duet the Wind Called Fleeting

If you don’t raise your voice
no one will hear you sing
losing the gift of choice,
we wait for what squalls bring

Did you cross my mind, love?
Or did I dream our bliss?
Your voice fades with your kiss
Ruby dreams from foxglove

Tearful visions fall, blurred
smeared what’s left of your song
seasons blended and slurred
where our voices belonged

Could you hear my song too?
Was I brassy? Off-key?
Hope you remember me
as currents convey you.
***

Aretha Franklin’s death is weighing heavy on my mind this morning. I immediately thought of both this soulful Aretha original and the slick Mos Def sample. I was happy to see that YouTube had a mashup of the two.  Listening to it got me thinking in terms of Shakespearean-level star-crossed lovers missed connections, and whatnot and so-forth. It’s funny how the brain works sometimes. 

R.I.P. Aretha Franklin

Bubble

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Photo by Mike Wilson on Unsplash

Bubble

Momma thought the umbrella
too big for my tiny hands
but I proved her wrong.

It opened into a
clear bubble barrier
a rainy evening portal

droplets racing into
point-of-view
at fictious lightspeed.

At night, the raindrops
refracted streetlight into
constellation streams.

I held momma’s hand
staring up into
streaking, soaking veins

smoothed, rounded, gleaming,
luminous pinpricks

while Patrice Rushen
sent me forget-me-nots

and Stephanie Mills confessed
to never knowing
love like this before.

Momma laughed, musing
that I was too young to know
— that I was naive, ignorant of
what those songs were about,

but as I daydreamt
about the girls I pined for
in my second-grade class,
I knew better.

The chocolate frosted
donut gems momma bought me
were still fresh in my mind
echoing from grateful taste buds,

especially the thick,
honied parts that rose with heat,
bubbling while baking and

were mostly hardened
sugary goodness.

With my tiny black boots
splashing sonic indigo
puddles, I puzzled

that indeed the love
those ladies sang of

was surely a hundred times
sweeter than calcified,
chocolatized, candified,
bubbled donut shells.

Perhaps even a
bajillion times over.

Momma thought the umbrella
too big for my tiny hands
but I knew I could manage
even after a drop or two.
***