My Father the Teacher

My Dad taught me how to ride a bike
he took us to the park to fly kites
he took us on walks
he worked the night shift to feed us
he was there in my life

My Dad was also an angry man
as Black men living in America must be
because anger at injustice should be expected
but he also did what angry Black men do
he went to church even though he despised it
but even as he hated church
he still took us to church
he was there in my life

My Dad at 79 continues to teach me
even as i now teach him feminism and texting
even as we teach each other forgiveness
even as he continues to teach me
about the history of Black men in America
just as he taught me Black History as a child
he is here in my life.

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Letting Go (Part 2)

letting go
of hurt
of people who hold you back
of people who hurt you
of people who abandoned you
of a painful past haunting you
of a betrayal of trust
of a lie told to destroy you
of a fear of utter destruction
seems daunting or impossible
outside the normalcy
of daily reminders
of human treachery
nevertheless we must let go
lest we drown
in sorrow and regret.

Letting Go

took me seven years
letting go of three I loved
another three years healing
my forties were fortunate
many moments of sorrow and silence
many nights drowned in fado
fado the river of music from tears
grief and wails pushing my raft downstream
without numbing myself or hiding
and by hiding i mean the usual suspects
we are told are helpful
but not even close
go find some fuckables to dick and dump
go find a husband or wife and breed
i chose to marry my very toxic love
my work
silent third suspect it is
until i finally learned
work is not warm enough to love you back
work is work
work is not love
work is what you do for others
but not your lover or spouse
and so i am free and unbonded
gave myself time to grow
seeking and finding meaning in me
letting go let me listen and wait
for the right one to share fate.

Dream Catching

lucid streams flowing
watching people
walk through rooms
this is a familiar house
faces you know to be
someobe else’s family
in dreams you visit
those you know think of you
as thoughts are doorways
in dreams you hear the call
to heal your people
to guve comfort to the distressed
dreams that feel so real
you think you are aware and awake
dreams where you become aware
that you are not kissing lips but air
that you must change the scene
that you must wake yourself
write your poetry
create your reality.

Ancestors talk to us in dreams

i think i had a debate with a couple of folk
who were probably family not too happy
with some decisions i made in my earlier life
which i find to be ironic considering
how i got to be here
how i was labeled as odd or outsider
how my bookish nature
how my questioning of the norm
how my large strange eyes
frightened
frustrated
folk who were blood to me
family who loved me but feared me
family who assumed me to not be believable
family who taught me to survive in these
days of woe and uncertainty unwittingly
ancestors
who debate me but
who understand me better
because they are now
ancestors.

thinking of your cock right now

Sunday rain
coffee and buns
reading news
waiting for Sun.

seeing you see me see you see me see you

watching you watch me
as you look for that moment
when i don’t see you
watching me
and as i see you
seeing me see you
it is good to see you.