Shiny black spit-shined shoes
on the walk
in the Memorial Gardens
hurt my feet
to look at their stiffness
and his swollen ankles
in them.
His worn and creased pants
too short, belt buckle aligned
dress-right-dress
with the button fold of his shirt.
He wore
an old faded USMC campaign hat
pulled down
almost to his white eyebrows.
Almost comically.
I pitied him
in the way we sometimes do
the old who mumble,
never knowing
just who they are talking to.
I heard Inchon mentioned,
and Chosin a time or two,
and every time he said Puller knew,
yeah, Chesty knew.
I quit taking my lunch
with a book in the Garden
when he stopped coming around
and after I saw his picture
in the obituaries
with a description of how he won
his Silver Star and two Purple Hearts;
wishing now I had listened closer.
More’s the pity
I never spoke to him.

r ~ 6/27/14

Written a long time ago for a very dear friend.

I have to leave the safety of the house, make a deadly trip
For I must reach the mountain,  ascend its life giving peak
As I start to leave I hear my softly whispered name
And so I turned my darling and kissed you once again
So I turn, leave the house, into the gathering bitter storm
I go with the knowledge that your love
will keep me from all harm
The snow is falling harder, lying feet deep on the ground
My hands and feet are frozen,  I can hardly see or stand
I collapse,  frozen, no longer can I go on
Then I hear your voice call out to me
Take my hand, our love will keep you strong
Yes, I hear your voice but I don't hear a sound
But the love you have for me/ I have for you will keep me free from harm
I finally reach the mountains foot but all my strength has gone
But then your voice I hear, darling I will take your place
for you I'll be the one
I start to climb, weary,  spent,  my life is nearly done
But suddenly the clouds did part, I emerged into the sun
But for you my darling,  I would have left this earth
Thanks to you my love I still have life to live

Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind.
I seek no favor
untouched by blood
unrelenting as the curse of love
permanent as my errors
or my pride
I do not mix
love with pity
nor hate with scorn
and if you would know me
where the restless oceans pound.

I do not dwell
within my birth nor my divinities
who am ageless and half-grown
and still seeking
my sisters
witches in Dahomey
wear me inside their coiled cloths
as our mother did
mourning.

I have been woman
for a long time
beware my smile
I am treacherous with old magic
and the noon's new fury
with all your wide futures
promised
I am
woman
and not white.