You lost me at the first line. But, hooked me in to read another. Then, shut me out to slam my teeth on your fist of brick and mortar. I smiled through the blood and broken teeth. Giggled really, when you pushed me to my knees. I’d felt enough but, then again, I didn’t try to understand. Now you see—you’ve done your job admirably. You took a brute by the scruff of his neck and instead of drowning him, you put a mirror to his face. Water has that quality for men: it is the place of death. By death regained a different face and name. Regained then or remembered enough to shake. So in the water they can cry again. Tracks on faces like a fountain pen. Writing first the memories on their Skins. Hides wiped clean of memory until Only the black man cries black tears and they are whipped and bent into shape. Now many many are locked in chains. Now they are stamped on the pearly gates. Right now I’m found because they fished me from the water and bludgeoned my brains onto the books. Right now I remember more than you.
March 2013
Dog
I dig a hole in the backyard. Grass stains my hands as I bury all my simple treasures; words and ribbons and bones. I pray that you won’t find them as I wait for night to fall so I can dig them out frantically, lay them out one by one to admire with fervent joy. I wait for you as the sun rises, hiding my hands—mud covered, sitting, fetching, adoring you all for a simple pat on the head. Loyal, they call me, devoted, they call me but they don’t really know the truth: The chain you’ve wrapped around my neck and yank when I don’t follow command. To play dead, if only for that luxury, to bury myself within my treasures the secrets I hold to keep me sane and prevent my mouth from frothing white. But to ignore your demands would only be futile, to bite or growl or bare my teeth would bring me to the sterile cold metal table where a single needle would do the job. I grow tired and wearisome, old and haggard from sitting pretty for treats. you replace me before I’m even gone, a pretty new pup with a silken bow. Your eyes light up when she is near and I am just the background, the comfort, the usual. I’m the hair on the couch and the piss on the floor, though I still try to please, I’m long forgotten. Already dead. You’ll bury me in a cardboard box with a nearby stick to mark my place. I will fade away with the autumn wind, only to be remembered by the stains on the carpet.
Father
I’ll mold my life after yours I swear. I promise to always love my children. Teach them to love me, like I will endlessly love you. I might have my Mother’s temper. But I blame resilience on my Father. He taught me to never settle down. Settle up. Because no matter the weather, you know there’s always a bright side. Quitters may never win. But men with hearts never lose. So chin up slugger, The bases are loaded. Don’t be anything less than incredible. Be someone’s worthwhile, the index of a book, remembered.