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Blue lights in the basement
Roberta and Donny sing to me
Slowly
Softly getting me closer to you in the dark corner by the washer
dryer
and clothesline
Secluded moments
whispered words uttered
not to be remembered tomorrow
Neither one of us could translate
Anticipating
From the moment the first slave chain rattled onto the Savannah shoreline
dollars laid hand to hand
As she cried
and pleaded for her children in muffled silence
She was next in line
Eventually
It would become my turn to writhe not in unspeakable pain
But to be transfixed with you in the corner of this basement while
Norman Connors
Takes me away on his spaceship
Tonight
On time arrival
Never late
And you try to comprehend the juxtaposition between pain
and the passion of this moment
This Moment
Finding your love on a two-way street
But isn’t that what poetry is?
The passion that makes you wanna
Close the door behind you
After mama done left the house to work the overnight shift
With Donna hiding in the closet
Snuck in like that high yella chick in
Cooley High
And the pain in mama’s face arriving in the morning
To lovingly
Patiently
Make your breakfast before school
And off to clean more houses before nine
Just so I can rhythmically grind on time with you
In the blue lights of the basement
The juxtaposition still don’t make sense
Does it?
But you gotta pay attention
Word hard
Straight
“A’s”
In poetry class
Becoming a
Writer of poems
So you can
juxtaposition all you want
And still
Today
Tomorrow
No one will understand
But it’s alright
Keep grinding in rhythm
Below the fading blue lights
in the basement
