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Strawberries
Four ruby red ripe
California Strawberries
the big ones
with still-green stems
sit on his plate.
Will it be the last time
he tastes
the farm fresh dirt
and sunshine
the stooped backs
of the migrant farmers
who run across the border
with bent brown hands
to pick strawberries for my father?
He struggles with
the knife and fork
juice drips
cheek to chin
years now gone
only four strawberries left
cut his food
wipe his face
and will soon bury him.
June 2005
My Son Is a Father
Now an old man
I stand in the doorway
listen to my son's
not-quiet-creaky knees
he bathes his daughter
scrubs her while
I blow bubbles
bubbles everywhere
her squeals float with glee.
She in her babyness
streams of singsong
him in his fatherness
on his knees scrubing
we all laugh
in his little bathroom
as I discover
my old manness.
May 2005
If I Ever Marry
If I ever marry
I will fall in love
with her voice.
She can sing softly
when I am far away
to ease my heart
with sounds and tones
coos and whispers
lullabies in the night
arias when she comes
hums to silent chansons
whistles while she waters the plants.
Her songs live inside me
my blood will course with
melodies, harmonies
African war cries/chants.
Ululations
will ease my pain
with songs of resurrection
while I lay in her arms
she sings to the sky
gives her heart to the universe
her songs sway yes always yes.
I love her voice
and will curl
like a happy dog
around her bare brown feet.
Ethiope
Tuareg
Surinam
Maroc
Mulatas
Morenas
Chicanas
Salseras
Cabo Verde
Benin
Mali
Dominica
Caribe
Arawak
Creole women
brown skinned
heat and musk and wetness
her voice quiets me.
September 2005
