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