did I swing in downtown bistros 
as a black girl, what would my ancestors say, 
even in Africa I was punished

A pleasant meadow
where sleeping maids lay
one cousin awakes

The faces of children
encourage deeds
of innocence

no one to dine with
no one to smoke with

your suggestion, “I know a motel,”
coming to my room instead, prone amid sheets

I am one of those tainted, corrupted ones
who got green bile stuck in her throat,
who cant even speak

I have built a world for myself
slowly, and without design

Sea birds over the river
Hover in my dreams at night.