So many years,
These hands, now old,
Have worked at the table,
kneading and rolling dough,
Testing texture,
Adding raisins,
Walnuts,
Sugar,
Sprinkling cinnamon.

Warming the oven,
Waiting for the dough
To rise,
Sliding trays onto hot racks,
Marking time....

She sits on her walker's chair
Looks up into the camera
"Oh, don't take my picture!"
But how can we not?
Adding these images
To the memories,
To the moment.

The scent of baking bread,
Cinnamon,
Raisins,
Fills the room,
With 40 years' remembering...
Time stops,
Time reverses.

The ones who stopped in...
Dad,
Brother,
Sister,
Gram,
Hired Men,
Grandchildren,
Neighbors passing by...
Some now long gone...
After all, they were
Only stopping in...

"To grab a bite"
On their way to the barn,
On their way by the farm,
On their way to fields,
On their way to the phone,
On their way to town...,
But really to stop
For cinnamon, raisins, walnuts
Twisted into fresh, hot bread,
And a cool glass of milk.

this is the part where your feet share a slip on shoe
because you felt hot, and now you're cold again,
and one shoe is cozier than two.

honestly, watching a man inch past me with a dull red shirt
and a duller red walker to match,
socked feet swollen in brown Velcro sandals
makes my own legs twitch and my heart sing;
it reminds me to take a flying leap from this table
outside a conventional coffee shop
and kick my legs into a graceful stride
until I trip on a pebble and come tumbling down--
such is the art in my elegant facade,
of which I am only convinced.

really, I'm just here so I can write,
pretend that I'm a fancy published writer
with leagues of followers salivating
at the thought of new words from my finger tips
that frankly do type at hare speed.

I'm writing to the beats and poetry of your songs,
the playlist you created and shared
once you asked for my instagram handle.
enthralled is a good word:
I'm enthralled by you, by your presence
and the tiny amount of ****** hair under your chin,
how you arch your eyebrow and push back your long hair,
shorter on the sides all around.

when I close my eyes your hand is on the smallest of my back,
and you're guiding me in front of you, along a narrow walkway,
until we reach steep stairs, and we laugh at where we are
because we've both been here before, before this moment that
connected you and I and the others around us
who faded once morning grew near.
mocking vampires, we welcomed the sunlight and ran in its wake,
shoulders bouncing, hair whipping in the mist, laughing hysterically.

Dreadlock Rasta;
No like informa,
No like imposta,
**** smoke; burning da trees
Mango scented leaves,
Burnt grapefruit scented breeze.
Wolly mammoth size locks,
Steal wool, *****, tied in a knot,
Jamaican colors wrap tie; sitting on top.
I and I, believe it or not.
No woman no cry,
No problem;
Him cool as a rock.
Charles Dickens by his side,
Studying stanzas, deciphering plots.
Prayer's meeting;
meditation- never stop.
Water’s blue waves,
Fresh fish after 12’o clock.
Under the bridge, find my spot.
By his sweet Sugarcane from,
Miss Parker Sugarcane shop
Burning a spliff, because the ****
is his only green; pastures plot.
Mary Jane, his only queen be,
Never leaving he; love him or not.

we live in a world of concrete
who needs trees anyways?
we're happy with our gases
the ones that suffocate us
but not as much
as the fresh air.
who needs a healthy environment
anyways?
we have our hospitals
and cures to diseases.
peace of mind?
that's been eradicated completely
and quite successfully might i add.
because life's just not fun
without any complications
and in our case,
they're not even natural.

Take me into the closet again
beat me with your leather book of
fallacies, conflicting messages strewn across pages
of decades
by faulted scribes, spitting glossolalia
into young children

keep the food from me, I do not need it
as I am only a child of 8
a coldness clenched my hot little body
as I drew rusty nail across pale little arm
the first time, i thought myself to be a god
your Jesus took away my sinful love
for the girl at church.
I will take it away with this nail
i tear it away
as a cold rain runs over my fire
my insides scream as my emotions numb
flightless bird am I, trapped in the nest

all I wanted was anything.

I stand small in this moment
as you lie to the school nurses about my
bruise
       but in the next I am
Tallest for my struggle.
I recall every dark night
starved and worn
barred from the world, I found solace in
a rusty nail
the neighbour's dogs
the asymmetrical patterns in the carpet
the littlest flower
because that was all I could see
from my closet
window,
and that was only when I was tall enough to reach.