Wise Black Woman

It is not my duty to make you a better person.

This blackness was not
Gifted to me to better you.
To better yourself from knowing
Me, is an honor I gratefully accept

Do not misunderstand that
Gratitude for purpose – intent.

I walk out my days in this skin,
Constantly learning the causes and
Effects it imparts on the world Around me.

Yes, I walk out my days in the
Hope of leaving each place better – wiser.

I do not, however, seek to exist as
A token – an accessory.

Do not look to me to check your
Ignorance – temper your bigotry.
It is not my purpose to
Correct your words and actions

Though make no mistake – I will.

I will root out your bigoted remarks
And throw them in your face,
With the utmost eloquence and grace.

I am a docile sort – a gentle sort;
Until it goes too far
Until you cast me as the Helper –

The Wise Black Woman.

I am black, and I am a
Woman.  I am not however, an
Actor in your play.

Today I opened my eyes and
Found myself mid scene,
Playing a role I did not consent to;

So, I worked out the scene, spat out my lines
And exited stage left – if the show
Must to go on, it must go on

Without me.

The Vessel

Mohammed.
Resolute.
Strong.

I look into his deep, soul-ful
Eyes and marvel at the
Tales they hold.

Stories he whispers in furtive
Glances and guarded words.

They are stories I alone can hear
Wading in this sea of white.

This sea crashes and churns, and
My ship struggles to remain afloat,

His vessel remains undaunted – unbroken
Miles and miles it has traveled in this white sea.

I consider my ship, small and
Teetering.  Boards loose and breaking

It is not at all equipped for the journey on which it has embarked.
Mohammed’s vessel is strong,

It is armed and yes, it has some insecurities,
But it can make it to the end.

Before I begin the precarious journey home,
I bid him farewell, sounding my Horn in celebration of him.

Then slowly, I begin my return trek,                                                             This boat was made for shallow waters.

It is time for a new vessel.

Fantasy

I read about the language of the stars, and you creep into my mind.

Before I can understand what my body is doing, warmth spreads throughout my form.

Humming, tingling, floating.

My eyes drift shut, lids containing worlds beneath them.  The world which I enter holds a version of you that desires me.

This you, sighs when my hand rests upon your face, rush of air pushed from your lungs which you were not even aware you had collected.

This you missed me as much as the deepest part of my soul missed you.  In this world I am mad for you, and you for me.

I touch your face and you press it against my palm.

When our lips meet, it is for the first time, and oh ! how exquisite they feel! How warm and soft and right.

We have been apart too long and our bodies tell us so. 

I fall into you and happily, you to me, otherwise I fear we may have toppled over.

But the meeting of our lips was nothing like the meeting of our thighs.

Our hands diving to deep, wet, musky spaces, fingers splaying and pressing and touching and exploring.

How have we never known one another this way ?  This is certainly what bliss feels like.

At once light, floating, grounded, separate, whole, present.

Our fingers are travelers now, explorers.  They delve into spaces I have only dreamt about in the dark corners of my wanting. 

Here they are merged with you, seeking out the secrets of your flesh, your soul.  Wanting to know you deeply, wholly.

My arm wraps itself about your waist and cups your thigh, pulling you to me, begging you to let me go deeper, know you longer.

I feel your body shudder, arch itself impossibly further into me, and I know your secret.  I reached inside of you and was granted access to your soul.

It is upon these walls that your secret is written.  My fingers memorize every word, before they reluctantly make their journey home.

I open my eyes.

Only a fantasy. Single tear slips from my eye.  I remember why the gates to my heart are so securely shut.

I turn my attention back to the stars. Too many nights end this way.

Elation

I am not sure how we got here.  I am not sure where we will go after this.  There is no turning back.  I am certain of nothing.

Nothing except real or imagined, I never want this moment to end.  The beautiful culmination of all of our sorrows, our struggles, our laughter, our experience.

Feeling, finally feeling the softness of your flesh merged with my own. The hot wetness of your sex pressed, wanting, against my knee.  Rocking gently – a quiet request which I cannot deny. 

My hands are no fools.  They are not wild as with previous lovers, but slow.  Slow and cautious.  Moving up and down your body, cataloging every dip, every curve, freckle and mark.

These hands are my eyes.  Cupping and stroking; leading the way for my mouth to follow.  Tasting every inch of your flesh. 

Does your right elbow taste differently than your left ?  These are the things I must discover. Curiosity must be satisfied. 

I will know you.

My mouth is impatient.  It does not want to wait for my hands, to reach its treasure. 

It follows the trail of sweat, finding its way to your swollen, wet, lips.  I kiss them softly.  Coaxing them open with the promise of my tongue.

Running it from the base of your sex to the top, stopping just below the clitoris.  Gently, ever so gently, I repeat.  Each time, with a bit more force, pressing my tongue into you.  I taste the sweet tang of you.  I am consumed.

It is all that I can do to keep myself composed.  How sweetly you moan with my head between your thighs.  How seductively your body moves, instructs, guides. 

I am your student.  Show me, mold me, teach me.

Your hand clutches the back of my head, pulling me in, deeper, deeper.  My tongue is ravenous.  I feel I am drinking from holy waters. 

Warmth pools between my legs, throaty cry escapes my lips, slipping inside of you.  An invitation to join my coming, which you graciously accept – elation.

Chasing the Moon

– I chased the moon last night.

What does that mean ?

– I don’t know, I left your house and walked toward home. I found myself running down a street I hadn’t been on before.  I caught glimpses of the moon behind houses.  It was large and orange, just over half full, shrouded in clouds – calling to me.

Did you catch it ?

– Sort of.  I made it to the prom, kicked off my shoes and let my toes feel the wet grass. I walked along the hill and held the ocean in my gaze.  The moon cast a shimmering glow on the water and I took it in. It was perfect.  The moon and me.

Moonchild chasing the moon, I’d expect nothing less.