A woman stripped searched... .. my thoughts...

In 2008, women who are African-American and in jail – and are pregnant – give birth on a cold, hard, surface in chains. I wrote this poem after reading the 1TBM post about the European-American woman who was searched by the police. This poem came to mind as I read her post.

_____________________

This is: “ain’t I..?”

Mule
Whore
Invalid
…push …
…push…

Blood oozing from her wrist
Tears running down her chest
Earth tremors

Ah!

!
!
!
!

filthy walls
Filthy voices
Filthy hands
Beautiful baby born

I cry for you mama
I’m sorry mama
Mama! Help me…

Mama? Where are you?
Mama - come back to me…

“injection”

“scalpel”

“hold her”

“I said hold her!”

“We’re losing her sir…”

First at Six tonight:
John McCain wins the nomination
Citi bank reports record profits
And later, our feature report-
The new homebirthing craze sweeping the nation.

“inmate 0983 deseased at 0900hours”

Personal Emancipation Day 2008

On Feb 13, 2007 - on a visit to my mother's house with DD - after a lot of conversation, my mother admitted and acknowledged the abuse, the pain, she is attached to - and the terror that came to my life in part because of the choices she made in raising emotionally blunted sons.

I wrote this poem and cried.

Here is: "Here and now"

A lot has happened
hate/love/ hurt/ loathe

beautiful/ ugly decisions
soft hand/ sharp hanger
yes - a hanger.

breathe.
time is continuous...time is continuous...time is continuous...time is continuous...time is...
breeze

I need you

You are the only one left

breeze
it's not fair what you did.
it's not right what you said

but you acknowledge
you apologized, no excuse
just truth

i believe
you are

(water falls from my closed lids)
(eyes that scream to feel lips)

I can't breathe.
squeeze.

.......................................light/eyes/open

I'm continuing with this poetry thing... This one is called 'SERVICE'

I wrote - this afternoon. I'm finding that doing this writing is a good release for me.
Here is 'SERVICE'...

_____________________________
the nucleus
not the brain
the head
sausage
meat
this is centre
IT is centre

worship
stroke
suck
stare

obsession like no other
we are led by it

hung/flesh/misunderstood
/itself OK
w/power - produces pain

stop
stroke!
STOP
power

S T O P
suck...

STOPP!!

Loving myself makes way to loving my family, makes way to loving myself which makes way to...

I am seem to be motivated to be doing this poetry thing. I'm not sure where it came from. I'm not sure what to why. I think I've always liked poetry. I know that I am writing for me and that it a relief cause I tend to be very performative. So, here I go - me:

Mouth wide open
A strong voice
A strong soul
Curious eyes
A firm stance

Who's a cutie, potata?!
Who's a cutie potata?
Who's a cutie potata?

no, you can't
no, maybe later
no, you'll have to wait
no, keep quite!

Splish, splash, splaush
Drip, Drap, Drop
Papi! my feet are wet
Papi! my feet are cold
Papi! I love you

Airy sweet sing song
His breath smells like sunshine
over-sized eyes catch
airy sweet sing song says
hi (high voice) ba (a little bit lower)

Family hugs
Kisses.

daddy will you dance with your son?

twirling around
he twirls around
i smile for him
i worry for him
& for me

look around
eyes shifting quickly
go!
stay!
go!

catch the glares
wrap them up in my hand
throw the back

beats and rhythms fill our space
little feet move with big ones
orange, pink, and blue

toothless grin
priceless

I AM A BLACK GOD... no.

I just read the post over at 1TBM which featured a poem by Donna Kate Rushin called the Black Goddess. I don't write poetry, but I do have feelings ... that I need to jot down

strong wind blows
tossed salad
I'm flying and soaring
wind rushes into my mouth
my chest expands
head aches
teeth and gums burn
hard feet
crack

who will take care
who will take care
who will take care

water trapped in my tear ducks
knock knock
let me out
heavy lids
blow
BLOW
BLOW BLOW!
my throat is tight

turn and face the wind
swim to the surface
inhale
again
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale

you're still here
safe.

I feel like train Wreck

No matter how much I seem to be busy, I can't hide from the fact that I am still in severe denial about the ways in which I communicate. Or should I say, in the ways I was taught to communicate. I feel trapped by it, but I'm not. I'm going to .. again.. read my blog again. For the '1st' time .