Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at th
slope of my cheek. On the
occasion, you press

I’ve got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry

Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev
to peer into my eyes
while I within deny their threats
and answer them with lies.
Mushlike memories perform

He bad
O he bad
He make a honky
poot. Make it honky’s
blue eyes squint

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing

I keep on drying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,

Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave

Funky blues
Keen toed shoes
High water pants
Saddy night dance
Red soda water

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?