Who Knew that Slaves Could Fall In Love?

for Toni Morrison

I vow to visit Christ with my switchblade unfolded. Like a bee

without a nickname, attached by shade

to the peduncle of a world gone mad.

Sharecropped down to nub and nothing

but platted hair and a child that rested

on your hip like a night after  jitterbugging.

with my belly full

to charm me there will be line dancing,

dandelion greens and fresh paper poems. They'

will defend against the likes of me; flap and wave

around their ribbons where I will hide my ash.

My blood protozoans.

I mean, from backyard to barnyard

they will spray the likes of me  (I love that

burning s**t) and while they cover their eyes

I will kiss and drink off the freshly mopped steps. Yet

If suddenly I still twitch

my yellows around in a mud strewn petticoat;

If lighting is nothing more

than metal being fondled by rust, I have

loves waiting in my cave, inches away from death.

waiting to

sting.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

amazing tribute to a phenomenal writer...your imagery is must amazing.
as Delmar said...yes, she will be missed.
j.

[h d e rushin]

I read "beloved" almost 15 years ago and was moved then as I am now by her great passion and imagery. You're right my friend....she will be missed....dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, and your poems come too few and far between, dana...

[Delmar Cooper]

She will be missed among we lesser mortals.

[h d e rushin]

thank you dearest brother....so glad to see your still around....dana