Some Poetry I

DON’T FORGET YOU ARE WHITE

I saw a black man on a train.

Two girls, daughters, decked in pink.

Shoulders slumping under gravity

Tired glower across brow

The face of resignation.

 

Pounding the ceiling with her broom

Disapproval gushing from a crack

I neglected to plaster.

Typical, Mother screams.

 

We did not stop my head from shaking.

 

I saw a white man on a train

Two girls, daughters, decked in pink.

Shoulders slumping under gravity

Tired glower across brow

The face of resignation.

 

Resting hands upon her lap,

Contentment rippling

Across warm sips of tea.

Gallant, Mother sighs.

 

We did not stop my head from nodding.

 

Mother

1 To write, much.

2 Too much to write.

3 Written too much.

4 Too much written

5 Much to write.

6 Much.

 

Love Letter to Self

You

take that space

within

reserved for others

cup it in your hands

bring it to your breath

take it in

cold iced tea

on a sticky hammock, as the sun departs

succour for restless legs

and

a heart that beats too fast.

It is yours.

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