Some of my favorite photos of you,
Were taken by your former
Lover, friend etc,
Where is my courage?
I mean, where is my camera?
In passing my little sister’s tears
Fell, bombing my neck and shoulder.
She stayed until the commercial
Then she left. That was Wednesday.
Thursday. Friday. Saturday.
Some days I fight more than before
A little less than the next
And your voice brings peace.
This is why we rarely speak.
If I’m African-american
The duality of myself,
Then that’s less African more american
It’s hard for us to find peace.
US, americans find |○ve in hopelessness
Kill to be civil democratic and liberal
I’ve killed to be perceived as $piritual
Clothed in my pride see how it shines
Just to have the timbre in your voice strip me down
To my brown basic
And naked African style.
And those few
Times in the park
Naked in the sun
The children the turtles the water
Listened to our songs
Enamored by our glow
A more African than american
African-american love poem.