Her Eyes

Looked at a picture the other day and all I saw were
her eyes
reminding me of the first time, the best time I saw her
and those eyes,
fresh, unvarnished by our desire, our attraction,
Pure spirit, waves of energy, joy of discovery...

"Someone like you exists...?" the thought pulsated through
me and swept away macho manhood turning me into
that little kid, you know the one, nose pressed against storefront glass
saying, "Mommy, can I have one of...you?" over and over again

Until she gave me those eyes, looked right into me and swallowed me
into another dimension, another not-so-parallel universe
where I was...another me, braver and more of a coward than here
stronger to be me and more afraid to loose whatever this was, whatever this could become,
tenuous with each breath held in
dying until she stopped looking at me
exhaling only the other day when

I looked at a picture
and saw a past that never really existed
saw time spun off on an axis of fantasy
but
shit, but those eyes were still beautiful

gazing through my lens
reminding me of that moment
false hope, nostalgia the longing
for a past that never existed except in this moment
holding a piece of worthless paper, containing colors
of dreams vaporizing behind,
her eyes, and my whimsical wish
to never leave that time, that place

Sitting there I could dig all those silly poems
I ever wrote her, all the times I stood before
an audience and praised the way I felt about
another person who never deserved a single moment
because of the lies
behind her eyes
were the perfect disguise
all I ever needed to believe.
It was all inspirational, served a purpose
made me feel good about myself now
cause all I see is how beautiful they are
when

I looked at a picture
just a picture
and felt nothing
but appreciation
for her eyes...

Ain't Nobody

Cocooned in the darkness
warm blankets shielding you
from a reality you cannot fathom

it hits you

no one comes to save you

Shedding covers
you stand up and
dance
your way out the door
into the sunlight

feeling the music
inside your heart
ain't nobody
playing but you now
solo

Lost until the beat
echos back
drum
sax
bass
guitar

Choir
raise the voices
ain't nobody
can't sit still for this
we all be dancing now...
ain't nobody
still
ain't nobody
quiet
ain't nobody
accepting this reality
as it is
ain't nobody
not trying to make it
all it can be

musically delightful
layered, textured
full of grace

ain't nobody
not needing that

ain't nobody
cocooned hopelessly
waiting
cause
ain't nobody
but you
to do this thing...

Lost and Found (For my children, Robert and Esther)

I want my god back, my soul requires it. I lost him somewhere between my Catholic grade school “let’s beat up the nigger” days and my high school guidance counselor telling me I’d make a good butler.

I lost god when my New Year’s Eve hangover ushered 1973 in with the news that my hero, Roberto Clemente, had died in Puerto Rico trying to bring help to earthquake victims.

I lost god but I know where to find him.

I want my people back, my heart demands it. I lost them somewhere between feeling odd and out of place my first day of registration at an all black college then later having a corporate customer marvel at my being so articulate.

I lost them when I heard my Achilles snap so loud like a car backfire on the basketball court and I couldn’t bang under the boards or glide to open space and rain jumpers anymore.

I lost my people but I know where to find them.

I want my history back, my family needs it. I lost it when my fist crashed into my father’s face knocking him down and out of my life. I lost it when the furious heart beating in my chest was so loud after my aunt called to say my mother had died that I couldn’t hear her words over the roar of the blood in the vessels in my ears.

I lost it when I passed, but unlike my uncles, aunts, and older cousins who did it to put bread on the table, I did it passively, sitting quite and still after someone entered a sales presentation, looked around and said, “Sure glad there aren’t any niggers in here!”

I lost my history but I know where to find it.

Where will I find my god?

I find him when Robert takes my hand in front of his friends, when he kisses me and says, “I love you dada!”

Where will I find my people?

I find them bouncing on my bed in the morning, pleading with me to get up.

Sometimes when I search for my history I sit in front of my computer, the page blank, cursor blinking. I feel Esther’s arms pressed against me like a heat pack on a damaged muscle and I feel my blood flow.

Stories

Sometimes I stare too directly into the sun
and see images burned forever onto my brain

Sometimes my heart hardens so much it cracks
from the slightest pressure

Sometimes I play my music too loud so that
the sound never leaves me

And when I hold her hand
my feet never touch the ground
as we walk together

But it's all just a dream

I never stare at the sun, never have been
a hard man, never play sweet music too loudly

But once, I do remember,
I held her hand, and finally yesterday
my feet came back to earth