Saturday, January 25, 2014

black-white: a kracker rap in 5/5

Black adolescent is sizing up my
lilly white face. Gauging my race, he doubts

I give a fat rat’s ass about any
African American who shuffles
through my classroom door. He couldn’t be more

wrong. White words hold no value to him, so
I must speak through action. Action and time,
time and action – and a little patience.

Black pride assumes pale, white flesh embraces
white trash mentality. Reality.

Am I just another light-skinned woman
working – to keep him down? All that I want

is to show him this: an educated
black man is a powerful man. This boy’s
apathy mocks. MLK fought for his
right to sit in this white woman’s classroom.

Prejudice runs deep on both sides of the
river, and I’m on a raft to cross it.

Black boy’s misogyny assigns me a
white-female handicap. Two strokes above
perplexion, this is more than complexion.

I will overcome. I will be the one
to un-sex herself in ebony eyes.
Beneath these breasts lies a heart of burden.

Jail-bound boy, Gangsta, the road begins here,
and he will not check out on me. I need

to teach the tough-love lesson; this is one
kracker face that sees beyond his present.

Black freedom dreamer was gunned down by hands
white. This is his chance to even the score.

No more hardcore. Win the war for his mind.
Brothers tell him, “It ain’t cool to be smart.”
Others say, “School ain’t for you if you’re dark.”

With fists wrapped around a college degree,
imagine this boy’s opportunity!

Knowledge knocks at the door of a fertile
mind. Just by setting down that bitter cup,
his hands free up for a brighter future.

Blacktop politics are learned in the home.
White lips and black lips repeat what they hear.
Children are not born with prejudiced hearts.
Ignorance feeds upon hatred and fear.

Flashback -

"Sit down! Be quiet! Open your book!"

"Fuck this, Kracker Bitch! I ain’t yo Nigga!"

Check all animosity at the door;
pure respect builds rapport. Time for him to
sit up straight, stay awake, do his homework,
make the grade, graduate, go to college.

Black adolescent is sizing up my
white? This kracker dreams beyond his present.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

when the dust settles

Maybe it’s the Puccini.
Maybe it’s the wine,

but I just don’t see
how this can end well.

We live separate lives
under one roof –

you in your chair,
lost in your viewing,

me in my library,
lost in my reading,

lost we are to lives of fiction,
lost we are to each other.

Night after night
we pass, you and I –

you to your couch
and I to our bed,

sometimes a kiss,
sometimes an “I love you,”

but really, what does that mean?

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Monday, January 13, 2014

haiku: frost

bitter cold morning
single-digit temperature
frost glistens on wood

Saturday, January 11, 2014

haiku: waxeye

the waxeye sits
in stunned appreciation
of second chances

Sunday, January 5, 2014


grey is the color
of this January sky
and my very best fur