Shopping

He said he wanted to take me shopping
I jumped in the car
'Cause I do want a few things
I told him

Where ever you wanna go
He said

Thank you
Go straight and turn left at the light

Right here?

Yeah, right here

Ohhhhh, yeaaaa baby!

I know, right!
Where you going?
No, the art supply store
NEXT to Victoria's Secrets

Write now

Stories stories everywhere
Nothing more to say

Stories outside

I sleep with my window open
Even when it's cold
I like to hear the sounds
The noise outside
Stories beneath me

When I saw the place the first time
The landlord said
It's usually real quiet
Just like this

That's ok
I told him
I'll take it anyway

In my room

There is a queen sized bed
Gray carpet with white paint
The repairman spilled in the corner
The landlord may or may not replace it

A red and beige cover
I pretend is a rug
Wood chest of drawers
Holding my clothes
On top of it sits my makeup and jewelry

There is a dark wook bookcase
Holding my books
Pictures of my son
Nephew and niece
My mother
My father's obituary

My journals of dreams and
Everyone I need to forgive

There is no door on my closet
I like it that way

My shoes are lined up perfectly
Coats and sweaters hanginig
Art supplies on the top shelf
Laundry basket on the floor

There is a dresser
With more clothes and winter scarves
On top of it
A mirror
A rock I found somewhere years ago
It follows me everywhere now
A painting of a beautiful woman
With a yellow flower in her hair
And words on her chest that read
Pray until something happens

Hot water (3-21-11)

In all of the world right now
my favorite place to be is
the Korean spa downtown

Normally I would mention the name and location
because I like specifics in my poetry
but there are no friends
I want to join me here
by accident or intention

When I am here
I am here alone
There are Korean women next to me
watching their Korean shows on the flat screens

They are there
But tey are not at the same time
I come often so they are use to me
To them perhaps
I am here
and I am not at the same time

Mostly I love to go late at night
or early in the morning
when it is quiet
and the water is too hot for most people
but not for me

Well, for me too
but I can get comfortable in hot water
It's a skill I developed early in life
my therapist said

I get used to hot water
It's what has me stay in relationships
longer than I should

The water is scalding
and I am wading around
with Negro spirituals in my head

Until I look up one day
and my skin is crawling off my body
Then I know it's time to go

I sit in the hot tub for as long
as I can stand it
get out and relax in the chairs just above
watch the steam float off my body

I should be able to resist saying
I let off steam
I can't
I am the same corny third grade girl
I always was

Shower time again
I let the hot water hit my back
hard

Dry off and go into the sauna
The steam is good for my skin
I think
Steam is good for my dreams
I think

I can't handle the sauna as long
as I can the hot tub
but I stay as long as I can

Shower again
Wash away the sweat and steam

I get my water my notebook my pencils my ipad
Go to the rest area
where there are the biggest
most comfortable softest most reclinable
lazyboys ever

I begin a new story new prose
The wi fi is free and sometimes
I browse the internet
mostly I write

I don't know if it's the
sweat the steam all the showers
the hot hot water
but I love what's coming out of me
and into my journals

Well, I don't love it all
but there is freedom in the release
freedom in telling the stories

The abortion the miscarriage the breakup
The marriage in my early twenties
to a man too full of rage to listen
to anything outside the nonsense of
his own revolution
and so was I
so we fit
until the water got too hot

My son my nephew and niece
My mother my sister my friends
God
the balance of my life

Poetry art the busses and trains
The planes the clubs
the diners the wine
the music the kiss the rain

It all comes out in the hot tub
the sauna the shower

I do love my life
looking back on all of it
I wouldn't choose to be anyone but me

I love hanging out with myself
Knowing and loving me more every day

I know hot now when I feel it
I don't need another relationship
that makes my skin crawl

I have let off enough steam
Dreamed enough good dreams
to recognize
too hot from far away
and not to go near

Now love

When I am not my highest self 
I forget to remember you beautiful
I am caught up sometimes 
In the in the human of my life

And you are always there 
Breathing through the it with me
I never thought of it like this before
Never been mellifluous like this before

You inspire me to be my favorite me
The me I most adore

So remind me lover please
Sometimes when I forget
That you are only here to love me
And I to love you back like that

And why don't you forget?
you always seem connected
To the you you came to be

You are just wind like that, I guess
Better than I will be, I suppose

This is the grown love I was looking for back then
When I ask myself where you been 
I remember that you could not show up in my space before
Because I hadnt been who I was looking for
Before

Los Angeles

Chicken asada con verde sauce
Hawthorne 
Sunday
Number 40 Metro bus to the end of the line
Taco trucks and flowers for sale on the corner
Cold sodas by the can 
No water no ice with that
Six tables small space
Meat stand and market to the right
We all familia

The English speaking Mexican brother 
Helps me explain 
I want aluminum foil to wrap what's left of my burrito

"It was good"
I rub my stomach
"Too big"
I spread my hands as if I am measuring an infant baby

"Ohhh" 
She laughs and hands me the foil
She she smiles at me and thanks me for coming
As if I am visiting another country

"Bye bye" she waves again

As I opened the door to leave 
I felt like maybe I was in another country
Burrito as big as a baby
Smiling server who was happy I came
Said bye bye when I left

Those Preaching Women

Those preaching women
Dangerous in their courage 
Standing in the face of no agreement
Speaking to an audience of turned heads and whispered mouths

Those preaching women
Praying and baking and reading and fighting

Those remembering women
With backs straight and heads high
Twisted fingers and ashy knees

Those beautiful women
Locks and afros 
Blondes and browns 
Blacks and reds 

Those chocolate of many hued women
Those moving women
Still in the middle of the night 
Listening to God's voice
Knowing Her tenor
Swinging to His alto

Those old young women 
Wise and words 
Building and tearing down bridges
Breaking and repairing bones
Filling the space of broken circles

Those mothers and friends 
Aunties and big mammas
Sisters and teachers

Those prophesying women
With word from the Lord
Those scary women 
Who know good when they see it
Smell a lie when they taste it
Call a foul when they feel one
Conjure blessing when they need one

These are our beloved preaching praying loving women
Whether we love them or not
Listen or not
Care or not

These are our women always praying
Always connecting
These are our women 
Holding life for us
To be

He said She said

He: $.)(!!!!!!!!!$!!!!$$$!!!!!!!

She: Your hatred of me is killing you.

On love

I wonder sometimes about love
The easy and hurdles
The where and how comes
Baggage and free space
I remember
I remember it all
I'm still standing
I'm still strong

Because we don't

ask for what we want
give away what we think we need
care
love
forgive
remember
forget
let go
hold on
lift up
connect

Seems like

people act out in our lives
according to our core conversations about them
our inner conversations about relationships
keep creating our relationships
keep destroying our relationships

if what we say
in the deep recesses of our minds
is that men lie, cheat, leave
then why are we surprised each time

if we keep telling ourselves
that women are
greedy, selfish, takers
why are we angry
again

what are we saying
about ourselves
right now
to show up in someone else's life
tomorrow

This new chapter

this is the next chapter of the journey
the next foot in front of the other
inhale new air
let go fears

create my world
from nothing
from no past
no yesterday

create my world
from creation

there is art all around
photos of this world
this whole world
stories about this world
poems
films
documentaries about this world
this whole world

I am still standing
I am standing new

two feet
God's feet
there is no place that I can be that God is not
no place that God has never been

new now
this chapeter of the journey

Seeing love everywhere today

speaking love
to you
about you
to me
about me

seeing love
in you
all of you
in me
all of me

all day

Heartfelt

I've grown up from then
from the girl who couldn't see past
her own hurt feelings
past her broken ness

I'm bigger than before
wiser than my yesterday
I am new from mistakes I made

My heart is bigger now
See?
There is so much room for love inside of me
I have no coversation for
What you did
What I said
What you took
How I left

There is only now
This moment
This path I'm on
This foot in front of me
This one
in front of this one
in front of this one again

Over and over until
I have covered the planet
with every essence of love
I have to give

This breathing is better
Don't you think?

School ways

I am not ready to write a poem
about children being shot in schools
on playgrounds with teachers
by other students

never prepared for evening reports
flashing bodies, laying babies
crying fathers
broken circles

this is not easy

there aren't enough candles
with pictures of Jesus and Mary
to illuminate my understanding

I am a poet
this is my job

Report the news

Dead stories

if you know, then you already know
if you don't know, then you don't need to know
unless you need to know, and most likely you don't

(dedicated to stories of my past that do not serve the good of the world)

Their nobody's business love

He sold drugs
People bought and used them
He loved her
She loved him too
He cheated
She cheated

She sold sex
People bought it
She wanted him
He wanted her

Two bedroom apartment in the city
One room for their stuff
One room for their love

He sold drugs
She sold sex
Together

Later
It got to be
More complicated
Than that

writing day

it's writing day
my hand is getting cramped
my fingers sore
but i am not finished

there is more inside my head
more memories
more thoughts
more musings
even more songs to share

the music stopped
all of those cds
all of those songs
the music just stopped

and that is ok
because it's writing day
and i wasn't writing to the music anyway

only to the cacaphony
of poems in my head
the dreams while i sleep
the sound the merlot makes
sneaking down my throat
into my stomach
connecting with bread
with cheese

new

sunday morning phone call
breakfast at cj's
walk on venice beach
drive down the 405
stories about you
stories about me
back into the city
taking it slow
slow