The “clean your room” “do you have homework”
“bring me your dirty clothes”
are tunes mothers sing
on deaf ears of children
who dance the slow drag
every week to these commands.
But these are our moments. The mother/son
tango. The mother/daughter
the spinning disco ball being
a flailing shoe / a raised voice bouncing against the wall
these are our moments
along with those shoes she swore
she’d never buy you / but did
the birthday cake she said you didn’t deserve / but she baked
and, you still / woke to balloons tied to your bed post. Continue reading A Mother’s Missing Song, Trayvon Martin
it’s not a feeling. it’s more like a sting. I don’t believe a sting is a feeling, it’s more like an impulse. a flicker or tease of a taste.
and the taste is a jar of honey left open during the month of August. it has remnants of sweetness but only the frame provides certainty it was honey. only the map can assure us it used to be a quiet suburb of st. louis. the city of ferguson, missouri. which is the sister city to sanford, florida and detroit and atlanta and chicago and new york and… and.
the city connects corners of churches to grocery stores and movie theaters to court houses. there are miles of studied architecture on houses of bungalow, cottage and manor homes that are primly arranged around squares of cemeteries. and the neighborhood has picked up traffic over the past few years. but the neighbors don’t complain. in fact they don’t notice. their big houses have big mortgages and so they work during the day and then through the night.
Continue reading a map can assure this once was a quiet suburb; ferguson, mo.