I know

I will have to work twice as hard to get half as far.
I will have to do twice as good to get half the recognition.
I will have to have a perfect understanding of roots I’ve never known
My skin does not do justice
I shed its pale, mottled trap
Because it contradicts my heart
When I look across the room
At the only (other) black man and recognize
The humor and smallness and largeness and disconnected
“I know”
Without recognizing and receiving the knowing look
Back from blue eyes beneath pale hoods
Because it is a shield I didn’t ask for
But am responsible for using and abusing
And I don’t want to profit from
Because even in making a literary pretension to connection
I am distancing myself through accidents of genetic combination
I am a black man
But my skin hair eyes belie
A heritage that I was never taught
I am a black man
And am responsible for nothing more
Than disproving anyone who claims otherwise

Spring 2005

Baby Photos

Eyes pin-pricked to
keep light from entering and tears

from escaping; worried shut,
in glances, trying not to confirm

Paul Simon’s Myth of Fingerprints.

I, alone, invested with
thoughts and traces of lineage

thought and traced
my unknown mother

here: stale bed guarded by ghosts
in stiff white uniforms.

Stale sticky linens grasp at
her feet and thighs—not even the comfort of
crisp cool white

at the last; no chance in this
hell to win the part of the angel by the hearth.

I stand by my mother of fifteen minutes
imagining for her a fear and hatred

mistrust of doctors and best
interests, of anything besides

comfort in the firm reality of a baby’s wail.
I’m here, mama, you can stop

scanning the doorway and the ceiling
wishing for pictures better than

the dark-splotched memories of
fearful youth

I’m here, mama,
even if you don’t remember my name.


Spring 2005

Discarded Script

Sometimes I miss it
the calm assurance of nothing
the freedom of being whomever
of reading the lines for the character I'd scripted
the beauty of acting and the innocent
hope that the fairy tale would come true
and that there could be proven some
veracity to the adage that opposites attract
from moonlit backyard fast-food picnics
with one heart in earnest
the other in playful mockery of it
Well intentioned phone calls
Playing kickball with children in a hedge
Lying in the dark, hoping, praying for
a spoken kinship of heart that would never come
Sometimes I miss it
Most of the time I don't.

Fall 1996

The Color Red

I am the stranger in the dark
the whistling of the wind outside
your window on a frozen night
I am the face that you looked at
and wished you hadn't because
it was the beginning of the end.
There is a conditioned response to the color red.
You can't help the warning lights and buzzers
because you couldn't stop staring
and went insane
because you turned away quickly, sobbing
because you know in the end I'll be back for you .
The void, the cold, the fear
and you'll struggle every step of the
way because I'm leading you with
your hand frozen in mine.

Spring 1997

All In

Am I wrong to cry your forgiveness?
For so long I championed your heart
even later when I secretly held you responsible
Can I be held accountable for a promise
that you wouldn't let me keep.
It haunts me like treasured memories
mapping pirate hoard
A game.
or enigma wrapped in a riddle
with a gamble at a higher stake
I folded while I was ahead
and left the table to make my tally
I thought I could walk away
and leave those other cards on the table
But I'm flushed
sitting in the dark trying to sleep
and the memories
The thought of our hands brushing as we
pick up the cards cut to us
It's unsettling
All this I have to tell you so I can get to sleep
That I got tired
I never lied except to myself
And my heart still races when I hear your voice
to be that myth, and be surprised by an embrace from behind
But I've found my partner for playing hearts
and sometimes building bridges, until we meet our spades
I still think of you and love you
Goodnight Elizabeth.

Summer 1998

Tarnished Image

Chapel of night
with incense of pine
I remember being here before
on my knees with a broken heart
and it felt better than I do now

As the darkness fades
so does the weight on my heart
The light is too harsh
and doesn't reflect this
emptiness that stars can

Who is this void and
what can ever fill him again?
His head bowed in wonder and admiration
While his mouth mocks his maker
and calls death upon himself

He plucks at the bloom of
what was once Faith
and in proxy sits
the flower of conversation
a plastic arrangement His arid words sow
discontent and a drought
from his heart copies the void in him

Be sure of your allegiance
while you can still be sure of it
When you draw your Ace of Spades
Death comes swiftly and silently
even through the loudest cries and lonely months

Break me again
Bind this haughty heart
with grace until it cries in blood

Crush those guilty memories
of impetuous youth in your hand
and destroy those bonds which hold me to them

I am unregenerate
I am selfish
I am lustful
I am trying to give you control
I am
I was that which you are
You are beautiful
You are perfect
You are jealous
You are merciful

Give me that chapel of night
That candelabra of worlds
That Spirit of worship
That feeling of Peace.

Summer 1998

Desert Song

Dry and dusty I am blown
All these miles gone from home
Let the thought of you cover me warm.
I seek my shelter from this storm.

That's my life, how I want to live.
One of these days it'll be all I've left to give
Living on a love I had never hoped to find
Girl I'm living a dream because I know that you are mine.

Waking because you are morning
and this day will bring me a little bit closer home
no matter how far I wander
You are with me no matter how far I roam.

That's my life, how I want to live.
One of these days it'll be all I've left to give
Living on a love I had never hoped to find
Girl I'm living a dream because I know that you are mine.

Dry and dusty I am blown
Each new mile is another one closer home
I pull the thought of you over me warm
and take my shelter from this storm.

That's my life, how I'm gonna' live.
I thank the Lord, 'cause all I have He gives
Living on a love I had never hoped to find
Girl I'm living a dream because I know that you are mine.

Summer 1999

Questions for my children

Someday
A small voice will respond to this
Tired gruff one
As Daddy.
Someday
A small hand will grasp
A finger of this calloused hand
And feel safe.
Someday my hands will caress
A life I will have been entrusted with.
How do I look into her eyes
Knowing I've hurt others?
How do I correct his ways
When I know my own?
What do I tell them
When they ask
How do I tell them
There are times to rush at the goal
And times to walk leisurely?
How do I teach them to know the difference?
How do I know?

Summer 1999

White Hands

Red hands bloodied by four hundred years
And not at least one drop has permeated this skin.
Black hands, blackened only by the ink in which I immerse them.
I need more to continue this
I need experience I can call my own
I hold up white hands to help
And know that I am still not ready because
I think of them this way.
When my hands are ready that is all they will be.
Ready hands

Spring 2000