Do you see our Anthony, our beloved boy?
Tall like you, he is his father’s son.
We visit your grave not to grieve but to celebrate.
Life had not always been kind but blessed we were.
Separated only by space and time, I cherish every moment of our lives.
My dear husband, my friend, my lover, my life, please know
I love you.
Despair
I live because I am a coward,
afraid of the alternative.
For what does it matter anyway?
With or without me, the sun
rises and sets. So I live.
Choosing happiness
except when the weight of emptiness
is too great.
Given to tears and admitting
my reality is a mirage.
Death took life moons ago
and left me behind.
So life continues. I merely exist
in this world. Living yet not living.
Praying
for the Angel’s call.
Eleventh Hour Prayer
Familiar.
I've been here before.
Encased by light and sound,
I am alone and
Desperate.
I cry because it is part of the routine --
The all too familiar
Routine.
This time, however, I fear that
I may cut deeper.
Apply enough pressure to the blade
To relieve my anguish,
Free myself of this sorrowful existence.
They say,
"It is always darkest before the dawn."
Ha! How dishonest!
What the hell do they know?
Light never shines my way.
I've tried to appease the gods to no avail.
Worshipping the money and the men of this world
For a fix.
Sinking to inconceivable depths
To fulfill men's carnivorous lust,
To feed the lure and the call
Of Drugs.
Never stone enough to remove
The putrid taste from my mouth
Nor halt the embarrassing reel in my head --
Images of who I used to be,
Who I've become,
And who I shall never be.
Free me
From the trappings of my mind.
Yes, I've worshipped the gods!
But now I turn to you Lord!
Evoking your name,
Wanting to get near the Father by way of the Son.
Help me see myself through your eyes --
With your unconditional, enduring love.
The prodigal child has returned.
A shell of my former self,
The slightest feint from eternal damnation
Though I've been damned for years.
Deliver me, Lord!
Hold me in your bosom.
Cradle your child.
Please
Heed my abiding cry.
Let America Be America to Me
Let America be America again.
Let it be the reality promised in the social studies books,
Where Francis Scott Key set my heart alight in a patriotic blaze:
"The rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there."
(In my spirit, America has always been America to me.)
Let America be the illiterate mother encouraging her daughter to read.
Stocking the bookcase with tales of Harriet the Spy and Nancy Drew,
Memorizing the 23rd Psalm. Then teaching it to her baby girl.
Freeing her only child from the bondage of ignorance
To create opportunities for each succeeding generation.
(In my learning, America has always been America to me.)
Let America be the dream I used to dream of –
The alpha and the omega of existence.
Where God spreads his love so liberally
That the only color seen is that of the piercing eye:
The gateway to the soul.
(In my naivety, America has always been America to me.)
Let America be a forum of consciousness.
Embracing freedom of speech for it is our hallmark;
Yet, recognizing the err of tea baggerish rants.
For it is propaganda gone astray.
Freedom of speech. Not freedom from decency.
(In my humanity, America is almost foreign to me.)
Let America be Dr. King’s dream truly manifested.
“Separate but Equal” – disbanded. But,
We are more separate and even further from equal.
Taking our civil liberties for granted, we are to blame.
Racial inequality is passé compared to economic disparity.
(In my politics, America leaves much to be desired.)
Let America be the place that values home.
Men and women become allies, loving one another.
Children honor their parents.
Home is not just where the heart it is;
It is where our foundation lies.
(In my home, America respects its own.)
Let America be what so many have sacrificed for:
Where intelligence and hard work trump sloth.
Where we disagree without being disagreeable.
Where we the people fully participate in government.
Where every man – even the gay man – is free.
(In my heart, America can fulfill its potential.)
For my America differs from Hughes’s reality.
An African-American and a woman,
I am discriminated against and even despised by a few.
Unable to write like Mr. Hughes, I can still write
My thoughts without fear. My America –
Far less overtly prejudice but not perfect.
In my America, “perfect” does not exist.
And we know it. Anyone recall the Bush-Cheney era?
Or the 2006 King Day tributes –
Mayor Ray Nagin’s “Chocolate City” and
Senator Hillary Clinton’s Republican plantation?
No, no perfect here. Sometimes, we are hardly civilized.
We must work on civility at home and aboard.
Youth dying in urban streets as their peers
Die in Afghanistan and Iraq with no real hope
Of returning home.
Home to a country that is still growing into its own ideals.
Oh, Mr. Hughes, there is more than oil spilling in the Gulf.
There are regrettable bank and auto bailouts,
Frantic fall out over universal healthcare:
The tendency to put business before people.