Poems and Short Stories

soft flesh: a short story

Why did you do it?

Do what?

Butcher me.

Butcher? Damn! That's a pretty strong word, don't you think?

Well, that's what you did. We were good before you wanted it to happen.
Why didn't you like me anymore?

I wasn't good enough. I wanted to be firmer, younger, sexier, hotter.

Oh puhleeze! Your spring chicken days were over 30 years ago. And look
at you now. You know what you've done, right? I know it's hard to talk
in your condition so don't stress. But you've destroyed everything. You
know that, right? The grandchild you couldn't wait to hold in your
arms will never be able to snuggle against your chest or sit in your lap
because of what you've done. What a shame. What a waste. All you needed
was a trainer, a nutritionist, and some good underwear.

I didn't want it to turn out like this. I never would've done it!

You never should've done it! But it's too late now. You'll never be able to
tell him ' or anyone else ' that you're sorry; that you made a horrible
mistake. And you were such a smart woman; so well educated. But it
really doesn't matter anymore because dead people don't cry, so tears
won't help. So hush now and take it like a woman. You won't feel a
thing. Trust me. Sssshhhh'the autopsy is beginning.

Emoni Kashon

Sweet little child of mine
A treasure. A jewel.
A precious creation.
Ripe and full of bright eyes
and promise.
Tiny little toes and feet that will grow into a
strong, proud, black man.
Intricate little fingers that will grasp
the mighty sword of knowledge
and curiosity and imagination
and creativity and wave it freely
and much.
Perfect little head brimming
with dreams and lights and the
feeling of comfort and love and
Sweet dreams, dearest Emoni
while the angels fly on your shoulders
and around your head.
You are protected.
You are loved.
You are love.
Precious little brown-eyed boy.
Grand ma-ma treasures you.
Looks forward to spoiling you.
Teaching you.
Laughing with you.
Learning with you.
Discovering with you.
You are the sequel, magnificent baby boy.
You are my offspring's offspring.
You are me. And I am you.
I love you, Emoni Kashon.
So much already, it's scary.
You will help me find me.
And for this I am so grateful.
Live well and prosper, Little King.
Sweet little child of mine.

Written for my grandson - born 3/30/97; Composed 4/29/97

Sounds Of Spring

Shouts, raucous, peppered with knee slapping laughter.
Voices, loud.  
Can't quite make out what she's rambling about
or what the slurred tongues respond to.
There it is again - that tinny, mousy, "gets on your nerves
after a while" baby girl whine.
From the one who sounds like she's been around the block.  
She gives a lecture - punctuated with hoots.   Laced with
naughty memories.   Been there.   Done that.   Oh yes!   One
more 'gin.
The ceiling above squeaks and thuds with footsteps
that never venture beyond the front door.
As the cave woman with the noisy feet and no life
trundles about wishing she had someone - anyone - to
shoot the breeze with - or anything else for that matter.
Mr. Boom has their attention now, 'cuz he's talking loud
And ain't sayin' nothin'.   Not one damn thang.
While a plane coughs and sputters overhead.
The suburbs of Santa Monica are just around the corner.   So land safe now.  
Wouldn't want you to be breaking news.
But that don't matter 'cuz they be playing cards.  
Drinking some stiff dranks and having a good ole time.
Enjoying a spring breeze.   That's light, fresh, and oh so clean
clean clean.
The unrelenting wail of Maceo's sax followed by James'
holla hollas thumps out onto the courtyard.  
Uh oh, there goes that whine again.
As the sounds of a spring evening in Hell A
meld, blend and settle in for another night.


The Woman That I Am

I am black, blessed, strong, deep and vast like a cavernous mind.
Hungry to devour thoughts and desires and dreams and fantasies.
I am never ending and complex and funny and sad - sometimes.
I am blue - deep and light and feminine and powerful.
I am generous and thoughtful and sensitive and proud.
I am brown, bold, bodacious, particular, regal and mysterious
and rich and sultry and sullen - yet sweet and charming
and captivating and cunning - when I have to be.
I am purple.  
After you, your highness.
I am dignified and daring and graceful and oh so fine.
I am passion and rainbows and thunder and lightning
as I rumble in your zoo with you.
I am delighted and delicious and daunting and an enigma.
But you like it that way.
I am red - roaming, restless, rueful, rambunctious and on fire
for you in you while you're in me.
I am hot and I am bothered as your cool kisses
caress my brow
and your fingertips dance along my thighs.
I am white.   I am bright.
I am pure as the driven sea
with her waves crashing against the rocks,
leaving her marks of warm and wet remembrances
that gently massage and rock my heart to sleep.
I am the Woman that I am.  
And I am Yours.

Composed 2/17/97