father's voice

the day he traveled to my daughter's house

it was june. he cursed me with his morning nod

of anger as he filtered his callous

walk. skip. hop. feet slipshod

from 125th street bars, face curled with odd

reflections. the skin of a father is accented

in the sentence of the unaccented.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

i was a southern Negro man playing music

married to a high yellow woman who loved my unheard

face, who slept with me in nordic

beauty. i prisoner since my birth to fear

i unfashioned buried in an open grave

of mornings unclapped with constant sight

of masters fattened decked with my diminished light.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

this love. this first wife of mine, died in childbirth

this face of complex lace exiled her breath

into another design, and i died became wanderlust

demanded recompense from friends for my heartbreak

cursed the land for this new heartache

put her away with youthful pause

never called her name again, wrapped my heart in gauze.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

became romeo bound, applauded women

as i squeezed their syrup, drank their stenciled

face, danced between their legs, placed my swollen

shank to the world, became man distilled

early twentieth-century black man fossilled

fulfilled by women things, foreclosing on my life.

mother where do i go before i arrive?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

she wasn't as beautiful as my first wife

this ruby-colored girl insinuating her limb

against my thigh positioning her wild-life

her non-virginal smell as virginal her climb

towards me with slow walking heels made me limp

made me stumble, made my legs squint

until i stopped, stepped inside her footprint.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

i did not want to leave you son, this flame

this pecan-colored festival requested me

not my child, your sister, your mother could not frame

herself as her mother and i absentee

father, and i nightclub owner carefree

did not heed her blood, did not see my girl's eyes

shaved buckled down with southern thighs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

now my seventy-eight years urge me on your land

now my predator legs prey, broadcast

no new nightmares no longer birdman

of cornerstone comes, i come to collapse the past

while bonfires burn up your orphan's mask

i sing a dirge of lost black southern manhood

this harlem man begging pardon, secreting old.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

i was told i don't remember who

i think i was told he entered his sister's house

cursed me anew, tried to tattoo

her tongue with worms, tried to arouse

her slumbering a veins to espouse

his venom and she leaned slapped him still

stilled his mouth across early morning chill.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

rumor has it that he slapped her hard

down purgatorial sounds of caress

rumor has it that he rushed her down a boulevard

of mad laughter while his hands grabbed harness—

like her arms and she, avenger and heiress

to naked lightning, detonated him, began her dance

of looted hems gathering together for his inheritance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

blood the sound of blood paddling down the road

blood the taste of blood choking their eyes

and my son's body blood-stained red

with country-lies, city-lies, father-lies, mother-lies,

and my daughter clamoring to exorcise

old thieves trespassing in an old refrain

conjured up a blue-black chord to ordain.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

wa ma ne ho mene so oo

oseee yei, oseee yei, oseee yei

wa ma ne ho mene so oo

he has become holy as he walks toward daresay

can you hear his blood tissue ready to pray

he who wore death discourages any plague

he who was an orphan now recollects his legs.

wa ma ne ho mene so oo: he is arising in all his majesty

oseee yei: a shout of praise

Source: Beacon Press, 1997