After the Winter Snow
For Larry and Donna
Bliss surrounds a black boy after the snow has fallen
A sign of the human heart has survived
An understanding of life and suffering
Hunger and thirst and desire
No longer does regret linger within his soul
It was a winter of solitude setting on the pew
Praying for salvation
While the flakes of snow surrounded the outside
Harsh was the winds and still was the life he had
There’s no need to be afraid he thought:
In time there would be a flower that would bloom inside of him
Today was that day.
For Crystal Johnson
Those eyes tell the story of my soul,
You see the story come to life,
Through the brightness of your glance.
Brings peace to my mind,
Your eyes reflects all that is good within me,
All that I wanted to be and all that I have become,
The beam in your eyes refreshes my soul.
She always slept in the chair,
Between the boxes full of clothes:
Children’s clothes passed down.
Her silver hair and arthritic fingers,
Her nose had been broken,
“I was a Hellen!” she declared.
Hard to imagine this old half negro and Cherokee woman,
Was a gentle and sensitive redeemer,
Of abandoned children in the inner city.
Why should we forget the bodies lying in
The streets, in the class rooms, in the halls.
Blood dripping into the cement.
We should not mind those body-bags in the corner
Collecting dust year after year.
Why should we mind it after all?
This is our Vietnam.
Those flags placed over the bodies,
Will eventually be forgot.
Long after my body turns to dust,
After the last spring flower blooms over my grave,
And the peacock returns to the mountains.
Words, my words will still live on someone’s bookshelf.
Words long gone in the world.
The moon is fading my love,
Ending our moments of joy,
The daisy awaking,
We remember our bodies engulfed in ecstasy,
When the moon had faded.
In the eastern skies,
Stars reflecting over the pond.
Shall our love fade as well?
Forget Me Not
Do not forget my love for you,
Those roses made of cardboard,
The sun turning into dust.
The moon falling into the ocean,
Don’t overlook my empty heart.
Glasses of wine spilling onto the sheets,
Our lips touching as if they were silk.
Don’t forget my tender soul.
My black skin with my Cherokee mother’s eyes,
Reflects a sadness of generations of war,
Living alone in the mountains,
Still our souls were not lost.