BASEMENT 31

when i came through the doorway
darkness met
and dragged me down
the stairwell of my existence
fists flying
between the landings
first to my face
then blowing to my neck
i couldn't see what he saw
waiting in the darkness
he tore at my panties
pulling them to my ankles
in tact
he attacked
the remainder of the sum
of my years
of living in fear
of dark places
his hardness soft against
my whimpered cries
that nobody heard
that nobody heard
that nobody heard
the pounding of my heart
beating against the basement floor
vised in his grip
of darkness
he held me against my will
to love him
so damaged by night
that day
had yet to reach
his weakened softness
angered manhood
brutally fragile
within the small of me
as my teeth
tore at his flesh
withdrawing all interest
in fear

tasting light
tasting light
tasting light

AWAKENINGS (AFTERDIVORCE)

when i awoke
my first thought was to walk by
a stream and bathe myself in baptismal
waters/for i felt unclean/suddenly
aware of the grit and grime i'd
accumulated from rolling in dirt/which
while rolling/never felt the need
renewal/as i now
pray for a cleansing of my
mind/relief from a spirit soiled
in the recesses of life/as instead
i cry tears from eyes once obscured
by clouds and every day was night
because to live in the light meant that
i was living/and i hadn't been born yet...

transgressions of the mind
transformed my heart
into a place i no longer recognized
but felt familiarity because
my ego wouldn't allow me to flee

but i was asleep/for what seemed an eternity
and the first thing i wanted to do was cleanse
but how do you erase the memory of your heart
the pounding in your eyes
the beating in your brain
the racing of your spirit
which flies ahead
in anticipation of your arousal


LOVENOTES 8

between your lips
the sun rises and sets
on the length of your tongue
sticking me

SISTAH POET

i thought that all black women were poets...

i recall my momma spinning verses during my youth
telling stories ‘bout my feminine ancestors/like
sistah harriett and her crew/who kicked a rhyme or two
on that underground railroad/and let's not forget
those unnamed sistah poets who worked the fields/
birthed the babies/tended house/and loved their black
men/all the while kicking it in verse and song...

these women mixed it/poured it/and cried it
on a regular and their tears became so funky that
rivers of knowledge puddled from their wetness
hence birthed the beauty of the spoken word...

yeah/to me/all black women are poets
and i know what it's like to be a poet inside
a black woman/inside a black woman/like for real
sistah poets like sanchez, giovanni and sharpe/whose
prose was a rite of passage/like maya/whose
rhythm is so fly that she kicked a verse at
the white house/and rosa p/kicked a verse
so profound that it became internationally understood/
the power of poets inside black women/simply by the
silent molding of her rear to the front seat
of a bus/hence/poetry in motion...
i recall being nestled between thick brown thighs
as sistah poets parted/greased and plaited my hair
all the while spinning verses and telling tales...

i remember sistah poet whispered in my ear once
it's all about the rhythm...when you get it just right/
your heart beat becomes word and your breathing
becomes space/legs and arms follow/ears/nose
and eyes awaken and if you just sit still...your
mouth will open and spin verses of knowledge and
intellect that are the core of poets inside/black
women/inside black women...


PLANTATION BLUES

i decided that it was time to remove the mask
so i stand here before you/butt naked so that
the blackness of my skin would be relevant...

i'm merely showing up for the very first time...

and no/i didn't come alone/i'm
backed by my homies/my ancestors
who are prepared to redress the repressed
ravages of a revolution relegated to a generation
of reactionary rebels ready to reclaim their
righteous reign of black supremacy...

i'm merely showing up for the very first time...

your threshold is deep/your present is now...
your forefather's racist revelry/ready at your
lips once/now fail for fear of the black man
standing naked before you...

i've cried out into the night for my people...and
still i ask why/each and every day i must fight
for the blood of my ancestors whose blood still
moves the oceans and seas...
whose blood flows through my veins...
whose salty tears created rivers and streams
of righteousness...

i've cried out to my people
to grant me salvation from this
institution of racial
injustice...

and yet i find the only remedy to my reactionary state
is to show up butt naked/exposing my strength in every
fathomable shade of black...
and what...
now you afraid of getting robbed/well
what does it feel like
to be raped and hung/shot
hosed/separated and exposed
because of the color of your skin...

and what does it smell like...
flesh burning/young vaginas bleeding/
ripped and torn/never to be savored again
or even remembered in a wet dream...

and what does it look like
to watch your future torn from
your present/skins on a flip mode
reversal/in this racist rhapsody lost in
this revolving door of just us...

and what does it taste like...
is it as sweet as a black girl's thighs
or a black man's pride/stolen and held hostage
by the institution...

speak to me dammit/speak to me...

‘cause i'm merely showing up for the very first time...

and you should be afraid of my fear...no longer
repressed after hundreds of years on lock down...

i've set my soul free/and it's a tragedy
that we're not/and i'm writing this poem ‘bout
present day slavery...

so i'm here to get mine
i'm representing/showing up for the
very first time...and this
is just my opening phrase...