Possessions

The clouds shake thunder, raging and

rattling empty bowls

at the dinner table where grace is placed on crumbs and

clasped hands hold on for decent life

 slicing half moons onto

planets where the men, crater faced and gently orbiting,

are always in the know.

She is swollen with hunger

as if Botero's bristles tickled her thighs and left shadows

at her armpits and between her double chins.

The pearls between her breasts lack luster

but accentuate the longing in her eyes

and that spot on the sternum where he pushed in his hand, hard

before the mixture set

so she could never not be his again.

                           28 March '13

My Grandfather's Portrait

grandfather

upright on the shelf,

polished

dust-less -

by care of his youngest girlchild.

Stern

and mustachioed

in a way that conceals

his lips,

any smile,

any semblance of a shiver

not that it would

ever quiver

Nor would he ever

shiver

Or shake

Feb 28, 2013

Somanona

for Francesca

the click click of your wedge heeled boots

percuss the concrete in a rhythm he can’t

bop his head to. your high bun perches where

his too short arms cannot reach. he hangs

from the silver ring in your flared wide open

nostril swaying in the gentle exhales above

your frosted bumptious lips. to kiss those bumptious

lips again he would call like he promised, dedicate

a remix to you. call it ms. brown skin, my chestnut

queen on patchouli street. sample a south African

drum beat and hope it makes you think of Lagos

long enough to need to be held, cuddled, comforted

but not long enough to put you on a flight back

home. the elongation of your vowels stroke his earlobes,

sends a shiver up to his elbow, a twitch in his flour dusted

trousers. he thinks his goods would be better with a sweetener extracted

from your voice. if only he could tap into you.