diaric, poetry

’23 Morningside Heights

When it’s her time./ when the first check is here&deposited in savings,/ When it’s her time./ when the pin drops through the camera lens,/ When it’s her time./ when it’s jockey in the mail,/ When it’s her time./ when I just want to listen to Nina Simone./ When It Is Her Time.

when it’s an ice storm,/ no power for longer than you can stand,/ when the verse is a nest, it must be/ to confess./ when i got a line out;/ bloodsworth and Proserpina./

It is her time./ It is her time./ It is her time.

Photo by Mateus Campos Felipe on Unsplash
diaric, poetry


When you reeled in the support you have
craved for longer than was necessary,
when you will rest.
When you will tender your
skin, your bones, your body whole with warm
water, scrubs and salt and lotions, with musics

a pair of blue-covered books (a song and a whale of a tale)
the virginal moon, snow-full

and yes, it is snowing again. 
and yes, i was warned about today’s wrinkles
and yet, the calendar insists–come to meet
and I must spur on.

If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it.

Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon