Day: October 25, 2024

October’s Blindside on a Sunday Night

trE

The night sky winks
At the purple moon.
October is almost in
The rearview and November
Waits with bated breath.

The dog stretches in her bed.
She kicks her back leg out,
Wiggles her creaking body,
And turns over to another set
Of dreams.

The TV is background noise
While I give birth to
Two poems, microfiction,
And a lamentation that’s been
Trapped in my heart for a week.

Monday is around the corner,
Shaking its head at the job
Ahead of it–it loathes us just
As much as we do it.

Sunday kicks its feet up,
Positions itself comfortably
On my couch, and kisses the
Night goodbye.

Tomorrow, I’ll be drowning
In headaches of the pre-meditated
Kind–they’ve been
Waiting for me to clock in.

Hello, God. How Are You?

trE

Remember me?

WordPress AI-Generated image of an African-American couple in deep thought, anguish, and regret.

I know you do. I ask
Not for a response, but
Rhetorically.
I received news that has
Broken me–torn my heart
Into thousands of pieces, so
I’m coming to you.

I always come to you–in
Sickness, health, during times
Of Sadness, and of joy.
This time, though . . . this
Time is different.

A feeling of worthlessness
Washes over me. I have
Been abandoned, neglected,
Rejected, and looked over for
Second bests and thriving
Environments are rising over
These selections.

Am I not worthy of coupleship?
Am I not worthy of a legacy?

Oh, God, the dog sleeps and
The tortoise has buried itself
Under its bedding in its cave.
They do not hear my cries.
The dog is deaf and the tortoise
Could care less, so I come
To you.

Four months later, he tells
Me of a baby girl he hasn’t been
Able to share . . . hasn’t been
Able to whisper to me of her
Name. Who we were stopped him.
We didn’t want marriage. We
Didn’t want children, but we
Loved them.
He married. He now has a child,
And four months later, he speaks.

About her . . . about the beauty
Behind her eyes.
My phone floods with pictures
Of this sweet and precious soul,
And I see him in her, his mother,
And his father, and then he says,
“We need to talk, but I’ll have
To find time to do so freely,
I didn’t want to
Tell you like this.”

And I break down.
Not from sadness about the
News. Not because I am
Not “The One.” But because he
Felt like he couldn’t tell me.
But because he felt like our
History–our trauma from our
Upbringings would crush his
Words.

How do you tell the
One you didn’t marry, you didn’t
Have children with because you
Both were afraid that you now
Have crossed off the second
Thing y’all never wanted to do?

I put on his shoes.
I take a walk in them.
I try to understand.
I take long, deep breaths, and
Then, I cry.

God, we are where we are
Because of the decisions
WE made. We ran. We felt
Like we would mess up
Just as our parents did.
We didn’t want to fuck up
Children–break the cycle,
Shift the curse . . .

Fear will make you miss out
On life. And it did. With us.
Keep him safe. His wife, too.
And now, his baby girl.
Please, God. I know you will.
I know you can.

And the pain I feel now
Will not be with me next year.
I will be free. I will accept
What is and what will be.
I know that my life as it is
Now will not be what it is
In the future.

Whatever you do, God,
While you’re remembering my
Prayers for him and his family,

Please remember me.