P.A.D. #5: Journey Back Home

I.



He smiles at me in the dark

as if well pleased with his conquest.

Naked, intertwined in moonlight

Original Black to American brown.

He tells me stories of places

I only dream about.

Africa lives in his tongue.

His mouth tastes sweet.

Each kiss is a path to the unknown.

We find our way home in the fit of our bodies.

As if the nap and curl of my locks tangled between his fingers

Reminds him of the clinging Earth in Nigeria.

I trace maps of longing for the Motherland down his spine.

Embrace him like the Atlantic.

Until memories of the Middle Passage are dissolved

in our coming.



II.



I am discovering what it means to be an American girl

through his eyes.

This life I have taken for granted.

These blessings I give no daily thanks for.

The freedom I disdain, and clamor about political injustice.

Pale in comparison to corruption, wars, slain heroes and the

struggle of our people across the water.

Still he smiles, flashing ivory, as if invincible.

My heart sinks into despair.

Surrendering my romantic vision of Africa, against his living testament.

He reminds me there is still beauty in the land of my ancestors.

Our people are survivors on both shores.

We speak hope, and wrap love into hard words, wanting so much more

for our kindred.



III.



72 hours ago

We did not exist to one another.

God shines on the unsuspecting.

I have come to appreciate Sundays

in a new way.

Yearning to find a piece of myself

in the lilt of his Yoruba accent.

Discover the history hidden

in the glide of his hands down my hips.

I am no mystery to myself

when reflected in his eyes.

There is comfort in the curve

of his arm.

Holding my heart in my palms.

I wonder if this is what it feels like to find

Home.

P.A.D. #4: A Place Called Nowhere

I am the queen of no destination relationships

Lingering long after good byes should be spoken

Logic does not dictate my course of action

I am a crash course of follies

The princess of impracticality

Skipping pebbles like possibilities

and random lovers.


If the moment feels right

I am along for the ride

Until metal crunches into burning corpses

I weep in the ashes

Already knowing the atrocity that awaits

My inability to be alone.


Foolish to be such a smart girl.

Grown woman with the need

to spontaneously combust her heart

into crimson confetti.

Repeatedly picking up the pieces like record scratches.

Text book definition of insanity.


One day I will honor myself

with more than this martyrdom.

Stop sacrificing in the moment

with no long term reward.

Love responsibly instead of recklessly.

Treat my heart as blue chip stock

investment.

Allowing no money changers in my temple

Unless your portfolio has proven you

worthy beyond all reproof.

P.A.D. #3: A Queen's Abdication

I have become impatient

with being your lady-in-waiting.

This love is no royal court.

I find your throne unoccupied,

and I tire from your wars.

Waiting for blackened roses to be cast

at my feet.

You dangle vines of possibility in their place.

When I have accepted the death knell.


King amongst men,

but absentee husbandman.

How is a Queen to survive

40 days and nights on promises broken?

Let us die in this wilderness,

so that I am free to return to loneliness.

That blessed empty solitude

I am accustomed to.

At least it does not deceive

with visions of happiness often abandoned.


I fear you will not take notice of my leave.

The crown of thorns by the bed side.

The scent of tears and my imprint

on sheets that is foreign to our infrequent lovemaking.

Farewell to these arms.

An embrace half endured.

May the streets be lined with feathers

for your footfalls always away from me.


I have nothing to offer

but stained glass memories.

These will never be dusted by broken into pieces.

Placed in a black box and remanded to a pauper's grave.

You will not visit, and I will bless you for this.

Not to taint the one resting place

where we finally are at peace.

PAD #2: Friday Sunday

God has a sense of humor

Answering my infrequent requests with quirky replies.

Such as sunshine and a brother

named Sunday.

He knows I don't observe holy days

Yet he reminds me good things can be observed

Any day of the week.

No walls of stone and tongues of brass necessary.

Just a simple thank you for a glance my way,

and a reason to smile.

PAD #1 Haiku - Cheap Booze, Bad Woman

Don’t trust bitches
Named after cheap liquor
It’s bad taste like their name sake