Untitled

I placed my
Sexuality on
A pine table,
Twisting it this
Way and that
Until it reflected
The light coming in
From the open
Kitchen window.

Once satisfied
With its placement
I squinted at it,
Trying to decide
What next to do
With it.

Should I place
It on the center
Table of my front
Romm, displayed
For all to see,
All who enter
My home, be they
Friend or foe,
Lover or the man
Who has come
To fix the
Faulty heater.

Or should I hide
It away in my
Frilly things drawer
Next to my rabbit
And my whip,
A secret I share
With a lover
Who in turn shares
His with me.

I am not
Ashamed of it,
My sexuality,
But I have
No desire to
Speak of it
Like the newly
Bought gadget,
Expounding on the
Features, most
Of which I will
Never use.

After much thought,
I picked it up
And made my way
To my bed chamber.
Instead of placing
It among my frilly
And kinky things,
I placed my
Sexuality on my
Bedside table,
At the base of
My lamp.

A fitting place
For such an
Exquisite thing,
Not hidden away
Nor in the open
To be pawed by
Undeserving eyes.

I placed my
Sexuality where
It truly belonged
In the one place
Where only trusted people
May enter.


Also check out my blog post, Becoming Venus - An Introduction
Pic

Lost In The Smoke

source

 
A half smoked spliff
Hanging from dark lips,
Thick dreads falling
Over half cast eyes
That seem to see everything
And nothing.


I found him like this,
Leaning on the base of
The tallest coconut tree,
His toes buried in the sand.

Even though he acknowledged
My presence, his attention
Was focused at the sea.

"Wha yuh want, breth'ren?"
Smoke and words expelled
From his lips.

Mama had told me
To look for the Rasta man
When I told her that
I discovered my wife,
My Angela, was cheating.

"Yuh love she?"
More words,
More smoke.

She was my childhood sweetheart,
She was my wife,
She was the mother of my children.

"Nuh bother with that,"
He waved his hands as
Though he was brushing away smoke,
"You love the woman or what?"

I looked out at the sea,
I used to have an answer,
It used to be simple,
All I had to say was "yes",
But I couldn't.

"Dere's yuh answer,
Dere's the answer to de question
Yuh shoulda been asking me."

I looked down at him
To see him looking up at me,
His eyes sharp and alert
Through the haze of smoke.

I loved her
But not in the way
He was alluding to.

We grew together like
Two coconut trees beside
Each other, but never did
Our branches intertwine.

"A woman needs to be loved,
Breth'ren. Love her in
De touch of yuh hand,
De words yuh speak,
De look in yuh eye.
If you can't love her
Den let she go,
Let she find somone
Who will love she right."

I couldn't let her go,
She was my wife,
The mother of my children.

"My, my, my,
What 'bout she?
Ain't she somebody, too?
Wasn't she somebody before
Yuh come 'pon de scene?"
His attention returned to the sea.

"De problem is yuh pride.
It ain't the fact that
She find somebody to love,
It's the fact that
She walk 'way from yuh.
Dat is what mek yuh
Come see me," he flicked
The remains of the spliff away.

He pulled another spliff
From his shirt pocket
And lit it.
For a moment we were
Lost in the smoke.

"Yuh nuh love she,
And she nuh love yuh,
Better yuh go yuh ways
And find people yuh will really love,"
The Rasta man said at last.

Love was not important
And what of my children,
The needed their parents together.

"Breth'ren, love is everyt'ing.
As for yuh chil'ren,
What good are parents
Who nuh love one another?
How dem chil'ren suppose to know
How to love somebody if
Dey never see them parents
Loving one another?"

Once again,
We were lost in the smoke.
The angle of the sun changed
Casting the shadows of the tree
Upon us.

"Look here, breth'ren,
It's obvious yuh nuh ready for
What I been telling yuh,
The wound fresh and
The sting nuh wear off.
It's best yuh be on yuh own,
T'ink 'pon t'ings,
T'ink 'pon what me say.
When the time come,
Yuh will know what to do."

I hoped so,
I looked out to the sea,
The cool breeze licking
The sweat from my brow,
Blowing the smoke away.

When I looked back,
He was gone, even
The spent spliff was gone.

As I sat down
Where the Rasta man sat,
I wondered where he went,
How he went.

Did he walk away?
Did he climb up the tree?
Or did he blow away
Like the smoke in the breeze?

Whatever the manner of his exit,
He had given me a space
To think about the future,
Our future, my future.

A future without the wife
I didn't love.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

And Every Time

He would knock,
Knock, knock,
And she would not answer.

He would call to her,
He would have heard
Her walking around,
Breathing, existing
Just beyond the door
And she would not answer.

He would pound violently,
The door shuddering
Under his heavy fist,
And she would not answer.

Then frustration would
Seep away like rain water
Into storm drains, leaving
Behind resignation that
Would wrap around him
And lead him away,
And she would not answer.

She would not answer.
She should not answer.

Her ears had to be deaf
To his knocks,
To his calls,
To him.

To her,
He must not exist,
A mere shifting of air
But this was not
Her choice, simply
Her truth.

The truth is
She could not see
A man who did not exist,
A man who was
A figment of her
Beautiful mind.

So the doctors say,
So her family say,
So the people who walk
The earth beside her say,
And so she grew
To say the same.

And only when his steps
Had melted away
Would she open the door
To prove to herself
That he really wasn't there.

And every time,
He would be standing
Beyond the threshold
Waiting for her to
Embrace her insanity.

Untitled

source




"Ricky called,"
Jasmine was leaning
In the doorway
To my bedroom,
Thumbing through a magazine.

"That's nice," I replied
From under the bed.
I was searching for
The red bag that matched
The red heels I was wearing.

"He asked for you,"
There was something different
In Jasmine's voice, but
I continued on my search,
Trying my best to act normal.

"Did he say why?" I asked,
Pulling the bag out and
Standing up. Jasmine was
Not at the door but
Right behind me.

"Are you seeing Ricky?"
Her eyes slits when I turned
To face her. They were
Searching for the truth as
Though expecting me to lie.

"No, why would I
Be seeing your boyfriend?"
I scoffed, walking around her.
I started to put things
In the red bag, hoping this
Was the end of the conversation.

"He broke up with me,"
Jasmine fell onto my bed
Dramatically. "He found
Someone else," she croaked
Before sobbing loudly.

"Forget about him, you
Deserve better, you'll see,"
I said, patting her leg.

"Oh no, is that the time!
Sorry Jazz, I have to go."

I slung my bag onto
My shoulder, grabbed my
Phone and my keys and
Ran out of the apartment.
The sound of Jasmine's sobs
Following me down the hall.

I met up with my date
At the corner of our block.
We made our way to the
Restaurant.

"So you broke up with Jazz?"
I looked up at Ricky.

"And you didn't tell her
I broke up with her for you."
His response was a statement
Not a question. "She doesn't
Want me. She never did.

"How do you know
I want you?" I asked,
Following the maitre d' to our table.
"How do you know I'm only
Using you to hurt her?"

"I just know," he said,
A smug smile plastered on
His face. "Plus you're not like that.
She is, but you're not."

The evening passed with
Good food, good wine
And good conversation,
The roommate and the ex-boyfriend
Enjoying each others' company.

Mario invited me up for a night cap
But I declined as I had an early morning.
As I walked home,
I slipped off my red heels.

I found Jasmine fast asleep
On the couch in the living room,
"I Love Lucy" on the TV.
I turned it off and
Made my way to my room.

"Lucy......?"

"Yeah, Jazz,"
I turned back to look
At her.

"I love you, Lucy,"
Jazz said, drowsily.

"I know, I love you, too,"
I turned and went to my room.
I locked the door and
Fell into bed, knowing that
That was the last time
Jasmine will ever say that.

I love Jasmine and
I love Ricky and
They both love Lucy.

Zio's Picture

vi.sualize.us

He would stare
At the picture
For hours on end
And when we would enter
The room, he would
Tuck it away
In the middle of a book,
In a night stand,
Under a pillow.

We never asked what
The picture froze in time,
It was another of Zio's
Many mysteries.
We would imagine
What it possibly would be,
A battalion of a war
Too vicious to forget,
Zia in her wedding dress
Holding onto his arm
Like she was holding
Onto her future.

Our musings fell at
The wayside
When we at last saw
The picture.
The day after we said
Goodbye to Zio
For the last time,
We found the picture
Where he last
Tucked it away.

She was not Zia,
And yet behind her
Was Zio's favourite coat
At the time.
The time he was
Zia's new husband.

She looked at the photographer
With an air of familiarity
That could only be found
Between lovers,
And we knew Zio
Was the photographer.

We said nothing
To each other.
One of us tucked
The picture away.
In that moment,
We all decided to
Leave that mystery
With Zio.