It was around 9:55 a.m. I was waiting for the library to open.
I saw a cute Ethiopian girl coming toward me. She had dark brown skin, short hair, and a pretty baby face.
“What time is it?” She asked me. Her English accent was very good.
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We speak of it
as though it were a place,
a battlefield strewn
with corpses,
a burial ground
of shattered statues
hooded with snow.
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My momma never told a lie, she couldn’t when the truth was clear
Through stretch marks and crow’s feet, the truth is what she told me
Not through words, but through the curve of her hips
The gleam in her eyes . . . the memories on her lips
She is so beautiful, that her skin can’t even keep her concealed
She is so beautiful, that in her early days
she carried another life inside her, manifested the fire
Sending her existence higher...
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Buying vegetables,
Sniffing flowers sweet as honey,
Begging for donuts.
Near glass jars of jam,
My feet hit the ground in front of
Bright red strawberries...
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The sweet smell of lilacs
drifts over the city like a blessing.
Yesterday was winter,
today blooms radiant spring.
Cafe tables unfurl up and down Selby Avenue,
an old man shares a croissant with his dog,
joggers and tubs of pansies claim the sidewalk...
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My feet are cold—the car
is cold—the car sounds
like a bucket of bolts
Rolling down a hill—
it’s so cold that my breath
falls like ice from the roof...
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My feet are cold—the car
is cold—the car sounds
like a bucket of bolts
Rolling down a hill—
it’s so cold that my breath
falls like ice from the roof...
