Scarlet Heart

The tension is so thick
like a callus
protect me
from the constant pressure
I feel
when we’re within
five feet of each other.
Close enough to touch
but we won’t.
Avoiding eye contact
until the accidental
glance-turned-stare.
Once black pupils
now red flames
caused by a scarlet
heart inflamed
with pain.
Make it stop.
If only I could.
But, you’re pregnant
with anger
refusing to birth that rage,
denying the flow of blood
called
love.

Green Leaves

I, unlock the latches
and open the window
sticking my head out
reaching for the sun.
The leaves,
once green,
turn brown and burnt.
Once infected, now distorted,
wilted, crumpled,
fallen, dead.
But, they still rustle,
dance, and stir
in the day and night,
with each wind that blows,
carrying them away,
emitting fresh air
that permeates
this stifled soul.
A whiff of cedar
wafts by me
almost cosmic.
I need the rush
while I wait
for a warm, wet spring
with green leaves.

Summer of 1995

Who do you love?
Are you for sure?
Who do you love?
Are you for sure?
Who…do you love?
Are…you…for sure?

Hmmm…I love that song
And not just because LL Cool J is the artist
It takes me back
Summer of 1995
Portsmouth Virginia
Old enough to appreciate
the simple things in life
Too young to know that Portsmouth is not
Ports-mouth

17 and carefree
days consisted of sitting on the porch
with my best friend who
just so happened to be my younger sister
(swatting mosquitos
pass me the calamine lotion)
watching her fall in love
with the boy next door
now three’s a crowd
until I met her boyfriend’s friend

and when the novelty of young crushes
wore off
we formed a girl group with our cousin
practicing dance routines until the
wee hours in the morning
only to come in second place
at a community talent show
still convinced: we’re born-to-be-stars

splitting our $15 winnings three ways at the mall
spotting and eventually shadowing Allen Iverson
ducking behind the clothes racks
whenever he turned around
finally mustering up the nerve
to ask him for his autograph

and when night fell
I wanted nothing more than to win a game
of scrabble against my grandmother
reuniting with my her and my grandfather
after nine years
and meeting my eight-year-old brother
for the first time
wow, he looks just like me
momentous

falling asleep in my dead father’s room
finding comfort in the stillness
and the sound of crickets chirping
a summer full of felicity
summer of 1995
one I’ll never forget