Oct 31

The Other Mother

For centuries, I have been summoned by unsuspecting children playing a game they did not know the consequences to. In my prime, I’d spy on their miserable lives and make them dream of their solutions to their problems: A mother and father, a feast, clean water, a home. When they declared their happiness and their wish to be together forever, it is when I would eat up the children’s lives until they were nothing but a shell of a person. And all was done in a night’s work. 

My kind’s work had reached the ears from all corners of the world. Mothers and fathers taught their children rhymes and songs to protect themselves with: 

“Beldam, Beldam, Beldam, 

She’ll steal your soul

Beldam, Beldam, Beldam, 

You’ll give in, she’ll get her goal

Beldam, Beldam, Beldam, 

She’ll be most unwelcome.” 

Sep 23
poem challenge: Possession

My Gold

A few years back,
I can still remember that convention
in mid-winter. 

There was a booth
showcasing relics from WWII. 
Helmets,
watches,
flags,
medals. 

A man,
a bearded man 
fate, 
had asked me a question. 

He held a green rectangle piece of paper. 
From his lips he spoke:
"What does this look like to you?"

I didn't know what to say
afraid
that it would be the wrong answer. 

"Go on." 
fate encouraged. 

"A dollar bill." 

"That's right." 
Fate then told me the following story:
Aug 28

Ida

D'here's a storm brewin'
finna comin' up my way
We're right in its track,
ha, 
not the first woman to storm

Sadly,
I can't leave
I ain't got no money

Not to mention,
I don't know if the hotel gonna let my dog in
the highway's fixin' to be filled with people like me
y'all already bought lagniappe outta those stores
cars line up jus' to get a tank of sold out gas

every year
Rouses sells out faster and faster

D'here's always the option of stayin' home
The option I have to go wif
It ain't my first storm I have to stay for d'ough

But last time,
my house went unda the water
my roof was in my backyard
my livin' room wall blown out
tree in smack middle of my house
everythin' I owned flushed out jus' like the water did

never even got the relief fund afer d'hat

Well, hope d'his storm ain't like the last
Aug 18

The protection prayer

This wall woven from my hope and faith,
cast around me
so that no evil spirits can come in,
spread unto my bedroom walls, 
pushing out anything unwelcome.
These walls push to my brother's room,
to my parents' room,
to my living room,
to the porch.
Let evil run away. 

May the wall spread to every corner of my property,
saving everything that lives within,
from the street to my backyard,
from tree to tree,
from grass blade to grass blade.

A wall evil cannot penetrate – 
they may try to break in,
but within these walls,
evil is no more.
Everything is protected. 
Only good may enter. 

Nothing can harm me here.
Nothing can tear down these walls.
Nothing can hurt me.
I am safe.
Jul 25

My voice, not yours

for years, I have sat in the back of a closet, sewing a needle through my lips. for years, I have been shut down and tossed away into forgotten oubliettes of shame. for years, I have been defeated in your palm.

though I am given scissors, i do not touch them. i am afraid they will make my stitches tighter.

so much has happened. i am a doll being tossed around with a stitched smile at the mercy of whoever is carrying me. you clamp my palms and let my feet brush the ground, making me talk a speech I do not have. 

to you, I am a doll. nothing more than woven straw with scraps of fabric. you dress me up and make me do things I do not want to do. 

whenever I try to speak, you get cross with me. you grab the needle and thread. you weave the string through my bleeding lips and tears of desperation. you make the stitches so tight my lips crash into each other. 

making sure I am this lifeless thing you get to control. 
Jul 21

Lemonade

the sour taste sizzles on your tongue,
sweetness stings your taste buds
hot summer beams on us when we're young
ice cools the drink so it suds
the sweet and sour brings back splashes
of sunburned, chlorine soaked children
not thinking about incoming classes
the couple play a tune for the steamed night
while sweet and sour collide
lighting bugs glow bright
in hopes that one day she'll be my bride
That's what I think of summer serenade
whenever I drink lemonade 
Jul 20

Death's Narrative

I wait on the edge of a sidewalk, sitting on a bench watching the street. Night swept the city in its dark cape, but it did not matter in the city. It is always bright either night or day. 

People pass by me, living their clueless lives as I am amongst them. I wait patiently. Just like the darkness, people are afraid of me. There are others who accept me long before their end comes. But I don’t think they understand that death and life are different. Life is temporary, death is permanent. 

Down the street, a red car drives to the stoplight in front of me. I can see the driver through the tinted windows. Laura Smith, a thirty-five-year-old woman sat in the driver’s seat, a latent seatbelt sat at her side. She waited for the light to turn green as a white light beamed in her face as her eyes became distracted.