24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Walk the tired grey streets
Mind a map of grid lines
Notice cracks in the concrete
Years of birth on sidewalk tiles“Hey, that one’s like me!
born in nineteen-ninety,
trod on by fancy feet,
slated for replacement by the city.”New Years Day for sidewalk tiles
On freshly paved streets
Won’t see a crack for miles
And you won’t see me.
I travel light
My two feet
Take me wherever I want to be
North to south
East to west
I’ve seen it all.
You see me and
You judge me
As you pretend to not see me.
But I see you as you peek out
from behind your sunglasses
Some people acknowledge me
Give me water, food or money.
And this restores my faith
In humanity.
Can’t stay in one place too long
So me and my two feet
Will move on.
As I try to find
Where I want to be.
I still remember the way your warm brown eyes would look at me,
Like I was the world, and maybe I was just in that moment.
I especially remember your hands. Big and awkward and perfect when they were holding mine.
I want you to know that I’ve never loved anyone quite how I loved you.
You were born for greatness. I always believed it and I believe it still. Go forward with courage. Open your heart, and expand your mind.
Never forget that you once had the heart
Of the girl writing this poem.
Things I learned today:
Can’t pull a church bus over
The perfect cover
I’m smell like trash
everyday.
But I can see the stars
everynight.
They are so shiny
and bright.
I lay my head on the
greenest grass
Can you imagine this on
first class?
Be my guest whenever you
want,
Just bring me some coins
and a croissant.
Horticulture takes time—and water—and sun. Each spring and summer gardeners inspect their fig trees: some grow in full sun; others in partial sun; still others in shade. Each one has an intimate relationship with its caregiver. But only one group bears fruit.
watering fig trees
sandy soil, warm sunshine—
leaves with firm handshakes
The Party
There’s a party
In her heart
Can you hear it?
Did it start?
Mother told her
Wear your best
Men will notice
Pass the test
Catch a good one
Hold him fast
He’ll keep you safe
And make you last
She has no children
There are no pets
She smiles slyly
With few regrets
She never married
She found no one
It is her life
There is some fun
She has good work
Her days and nights
The party lasted
Just out of sight
No one gets it
She must drink
She can’t be happy
Is what they think
To win in life
You must be two
To prove you’re worthy
That love is due
She hears the chatter
Without a tear
Her heart is full
And love is near
It’s not a secret
Not in a book
But for the taking
Though you must look
Love’s not a payment
There is no price
You always have it
Good, bad or nice
Your brought the love
When you got here
There’s plenty of it
To share with cheer
It’s all inside
Not out in space
Not with some man
Who likes your face
This life will dim
You cannot stay
Toss off the fear
Seek joy each day
There’s a party
In your heart
Can you hear it?
Did it start?
I ride the bus
from one town, to another.
Leaving behind
my mother
and her whispered lies
(these lies have grown inside me…
malignancies
that have become my truth)
Carrying everything I own
in a ripped green plastic bag…
(mostly clothes from the Hospital’s lost and found, but there is a special glass bong and my journal, as well)
The Hospital told me my insurance
would pay for one night in a motel, upon my release
from the psychiatric ward.
I am 18.
I decided to go back, and spend the night with the man who beat me, instead.
But in the morning, I got on the bus out of town, away from his meth fueled love and violence.
Different town,
same voices in my head.
There is some comfort
in the insanity
and violent drama
of instability and chaos.
It is the known,
in a world of unknowns.
She had picked the perfect dress
one she knew she looked damn well good in.
Her hair was on point… nails all french tips
Make up down up, damn near flawless.
Panties, bra almost cost the most out of all of it.
Heels dazzling with every step
down the aisle to stand next the man
of which she would commit her life to.
A man she knew the best of
A man that none of the rest was.
But although all was perfect in this very moment
Would it continue to be when she no longer owned it?
When the make up was washed away
Hair all knoted, sticking up straight
Perfect dress no longer fits
Nails broken and in the trash
Heels all messed up and no longer flash.
Why the worry?
Why the tears?
For the time is here to learn the truth of your fear
Lady lannae =)
(hour 7)
Every Saturday my lover and I
Gathered with the other well-fed
volunteers to load meals into a van,
and then drive to our stations in
Manhattan to hand them out,
One-by-one.
Mothers pushing strollers with
Crack-glazed eyes, and
Old men in ill-fitting overcoats
lined up outside Harlem Hospital
In the bitter cold
Waiting for the van.
The grand meal consisted of
two slices of white bread with
two slices of lunch meat,
an apple, and a half-pint of milk.
For those gifts, people waited
sometimes hours for the us to
arrive.
One cold February night,
We’d handed out over 100 meals,
And when we got to the last man
In line, there was nothing left.
He looked into my eyes and
a tear slipped down his cheek.
I took a 20 dollar bill
out of my pocket,
put it in his hand
and walked all the
way downtown
as the snow fell.
I never went back.
Yet, to this day, decades later,
I still remember that man,
and the meteor-like impact
he made on my soul.
He made me feel his hunger,
The unfairness of his life,
His longing for warmth,
And how little I could do
With a single tear.
.