Her scent announces
the riot about to occur
in one of those places
that will always be your favorite
even if the food is lousy
Her gift makes you feel
like you’ve gotten
a king’s ransom
queen’s pardon
and royal flush
her sly wink
seals the chaos
The birds and sky
had better well
put on a grand show
because you feel like
dancing
out the diner
oblivious
to the stares
your vacant smile
creates
A sip of spring to soothe our summer swelter. Let’s dance! – mh clay
evaporated milk
condensed milk
heavy cream
bananas
instant vanilla pudding
momma laughing at us human beings
my loud sister putting bows on the tree
momma’s favorite grandbaby’s present
in place of pride
instant banana flavored pudding
Cinnamon to taste
1 8×10 baking dish
vanilla wafers (you can also use store bought pound cake, just cut into thirds to layer in pan)
Two large pans of chicken and dressing in the oven
sauteing spinach and peppers with butter and olive oil
arguing and laughing with my sister
Prepare pudding with milks and cream, let the pudding sit
Watching my brother trying to beat momma at dominoes
My sister smoking weed on the porch
While you’re preparing the bananas and other ingredients
Place layer of cookies or cake on bottom of pan,
add pudding add bananas in layers.
Finish with cookies or cake on top with whipped cream.
Chill for 30 minutes
What is Neecee bringing
Everything
Fixing my momma a drink
Sending my brother for a bag of ice and moms cigs
The Temptation’s, Silent Night
Mom’s eyes misting
Mahaila Jackson’s, Sparrow is soaring
On the night before Christmas, what’s all through your house? – mh clay
Envying my mom in her mirror
liquor in a crystal glass
cigs in an ornate tray
Liquid makeup
pressed powder rouge
lips copper
Tabu™
Baby, fix me a bourbon and coke
I sip a taste of dizzying joy
Yes! Sweet mems! Locked in ice cubes, splashed with bourbon and coke. – mh clay
The beach in 1989
such hills
Wild rosemary and juniper
Baloney sandwiches
Secondhand beach towels
Second and possibly third hand
But we were free
The importance of
Reused brick frame duplexes
Once used to frame
A country sure of itself
Now assured of the
Freedom of its consequences
Before the earth shrugged
All foundations shake when the earth quakes. – mh clay
The media portray someone’s last breath
slowing beeps on the monitors
one long continuous beep
When they took my daughter off the machine
There was silence
my halted breath
She sighed
looking like she was having
the most beautiful dream
I stood over her
willing her to let go
Letting her know we would be ok
Really
I told her your grandmothers waiting
I pictured her running until
her granny laughed swooped her up
I hope that’s what really happened
My hands like Rosary beads
On the train from Bakersfield
A needed visit with my son
Sharing grief, joy and belly ache stories
I stood in the observation car of the Amtrak
from mountains to desert
A pretty good description of my emotions
Somebody wrote Help Me
in the sand in El Paso
under a duct tape sky
Some go out, some come in. Hello! Goodbye! – mh clay
Momma, Ms. Betty, Poppa Turtle, Ervay and I went to Tyler’s so named cause that was the headliner that night. They goan go someplace, do something out this joint, was Ms. Betty’s critique. She aint no Tina mumbled Pops. No, Ms. Peaches smelled like the clean sweat of honest work. She sang with her man, Tyler on bass, a daughter …
Isn’t easy Sister Pigeon
you could be screaming inside your head
This city wouldn’t know or care
Trust me on this
the connective cries of so many
Common truth alone is quickening
There are no tender arms
No listening heart
You can try to weave the impossible
from the possible
join the illusion of what everyone knows
Full of the luster of lies easily told
You find shade and balm in forgotten skies
the singing of nature bodes warnings
harmony of a million beats
Lean across the stanchion beams of reality
embrace the sudden shock of your lack of uniqueness
Clasp to your soul the unending pleasure
Scoop it up
Get a platter of wisdom
That dish they serve cold
Hard lessons, somehow softened by a hard life. – mh clay
What I heard in my head was William De Vaughn’s “Be Thankful for What You’ve Got.” There wasn’t a diamond in the back. What was actually playing was a loop of the same five rap songs that apparently our driver picked to put him in El Capo/Pimpin’ mode. I could make some under the table paper, let the driver. You …
Born of bags, sirens and moon dreams
Jumped on the rail spilling clean shirts
Slipped off your dirty one rubbed it on your
Unvarnished mahogany face
Rubbed deodorant under your curved arms
Unmindful of your budding glory
Shorts highlighted your hint of pubic
Man promise
Run and rise our Moor
You may save us in our decline
Saints of the streets; makers of mythos and money. Who will judge whom? – mh clay
I have one, a snapper, one man named it. I was at the apex of my powers; so I thought. I was an old man’s pass around; he gave me a place to lay my head that weekend, much better than sleeping in an abandoned car. I got paid $20.00 and a new nickname; catfish, make a man’s nature rise like that r&b song extols.
I was hooking; selling ass out of both drawer legs, my momma called it. The narc looked like a drunk trick. My pimp Cornbread and his main piece Caroline were, unbeknownst to me, clipping tricks in the alley. Married men wouldn’t report them. I was finally caught underage at a club; spent the night in a drunk tank, told I was pregs by my cell mate and deposited back to my mom’s. So I could give it away for free to all comers.
I preferred married men; 20s, one child; one thug as a part time lover/jailer; one milquetoast freak as my semi regular man. Momma ran the juke joint next door, had 3 men rooming in the front room of our one bedroom apt duplex.
Married men gave formula and diaper money. One man had a chain of convenience stores; momma pushed me toward him; he was a regular in the joint and he liked them young. I had a snapper, he called it. I kept it lemony, I even used honey. It was sweet and sour; like life. I finally got an awareness of the pain I was causing the women. The saints who were raising their bad ass kids, washing their stank ass drawers. The drawers I was pulling down, my shame and anger was unrighteous. The nerve of me.
My 30s and 40s found me in a so-called sanctified marriage. He knew the score; I was hiding my bi-ness, hiding my same gender love. I ate gay related books and magazines. We had a threesome with my neighbor. She wasn’t into me. If the Lord is just, may he forgive this Jezebel; before I paid dearly with my girl child’s innocence for my moral sin, he was into my and her daughter. He went to jail. My snapper did not save those girls.
My 50s find me heighted. I have been called hot natured. My ob-gyn told me my cunt cramps are because my vaginal walls are so thick they constrict of their own accord. My last partner was jealous of my vibrator. She could not put her whole hand in me; damn baby your snatch is tight, wish I had my dildo with me, I’d wear you out. Or get sore trying. I grabbed the lube. We have honey on our lips, honey stains on the bed. I still do my kegel exercises. I touch my dark pearl and laugh. I got a snapper.
A genital history, openly disclosed… Honesty? Honestly!- mh clay
