I am fresh like new thoughts
The air hums with genesis
I’m ready to hear what those damn sparrows are chirruping about
Ready to extend my arm and touch beyond myself
I watch her purple silk
Always put together
Tonight
Her eyes are empty
Her person has surrendered to a softness
In her deepest exhaustion
I see that she is beautiful
Before the words come shock protects me
A knowing before the saying
Still, the sound of it in my ears makes me go blind
In my total darkness I gasp for air
And it comes
The steel grey monstrosity stares back at me
In its ugliness, I see an intelligence
Death profiteer.
I want to kick it over-make it lie face down
I want it to live the horror of dying
Inanimate bullshit
A North Wind liberates her rage
That old static air left her
Suffocating and compliant
For a time, she was a frozen sapling. Motionless.
The great Northern push thrashed her unprepared branches
I understand before I know
Somewhere in my soft and sacred pinkness
There is a raw knowledge
It swells in the emptiness
Determined to offer some sense of a whole
The last came so many times, and then only once
By then we were to look upon each other’s ghosts
Shadows of lovers
All depth and memory drained
Like ragged, aged passenger pigeons we flew
Purposeless
Directionless
There is no home
Let the light fall on the bitter
Allow the starved and wretched thing to uncoil
The livid, hungry, twisted gut snake
It burns with starvation
Having lived too long on the flesh of its own wounds
Breathe for me momma
Unfurl the universe of my courage
Tug on those deep roots of my womanhood
Spark the return of my born spirit
Gilbert King and the Lafayette Crowd
On Saturday I attended a lecture and book signing at Barnes and Noble by Gilbert King. He was there promoting “The Execution of Willie Francis.” The local media coverage of the lecture was sparse, I guess because of the chemical spill, but C-SPAN was there taping. A bunch of francophiles piled in next to me in the sitting area. They were retirement age and chatty with each other. The women had on hats and some of the men had on suspenders. I have no idea what they were saying to each other in their excited French.
I liked Mr. King. He was an animated speaker. The Q&A was lively. Over all it was a good time.
After listening to a two hour discussion of botched executions, there was really only one thing to do. I walked over to the Starbucks, grabbed “Inked” magazine and ate the biggest chocolate cupcake you have ever seen.
