late for work

I’m sorry I was late for work this morning
but let me explain
No, there were no accidents
or traffic jams, my alarm went off just fine…
But as the clock sang songs about buttercups
and the sun brushed
my hair back like mama’s love, I rolled over to find two poems
stretched out in my bed, their bodies not yet tuned to time.
And I watched them breath.
For ten whole minutes,
I watched the universe expand and collapse
inside a cage I can fit between two palms
and I felt like God and I now had an inside joke
(humans think the Universe was created in
seven days but we both know that is was created just…
Now and Now and Now,
with each breath and each moment
it is created again and again)
and I watched as those bodies,
warm and pliable as lumps of clay,
began to take the shape of Beings whose edges
I could no longer locate.
I wish I could’ve gathered the smell of this morning for you,
flying through daffodil fields and leap frog clouds,
I would have brought it back here to this fluorescent- lit tower
of all things grown up, to remind you of
what is like to dream past 7 am.
I know you think what goes on here is important,
the big marble columns and the faces of old white men,
sure make it seem like it is…
and I know that you think that inside these walls,
these enormous walls built by brown hands,
painted three times a year by inmates,
adorned with the giant tributes to oil fields and stolen lands,
is where the world gets changed
but see enormous walls don’t make the world change…
out there is where the world gets changed.
Because on my street, six blocks away,
there is a baby drinking marijuana smoke
and fatigue for breakfast, whose diaper’s
needed changing for two days.
On the corner, a store owner is changing his family tree
by selling addictions to Americans.
Under the bridge, there is man babbling
about freedom under his breath, he clenches
his bottle for forgiveness as his fingers still
grasp for the trigger. The change in his cup
means more to him then any law you will make in committee today.
There is an ocean of progress between you and them
but you are too scared to get your hair wet.
I’m not saying you’re not useful, or darn right stunning in your suits,
but I’m just saying that none of this would be necessary if we had our priorities as straight and pointy as your boots.
I’m saying it would be more cost effective
to send a thousand memos a second
to remind each other of our divinity
than to continually pass laws that make hard working people into criminals
and maybe we could have little less brunches
and less luncheons and more meetings with the dawn.
We could borrow its colors of redemption to repaint
our history with moving on.
And then maybe we could add a clause to the law
just for single moms that makes you excused
if you are late to work because you had more important shit to do
like stopping your daughter just before she walks into school
and reminding her that even on her worst day,
when she has spiderman underwear on, no socks
and a knotted jungle of curls on her head,
that she is spectacular and then taking the time
to explain exactly what spectacular means.
This is the important shit ya’ll.
Like when I was 20 years old and pregnant
And my mother said, “but you had so much potential”
and “you were going to do so much…” and I told her
that if I never accomplish another goddamn thing
in my life I’ll be more important to this child than Gandhi
and that’s enough for me.
So… sorry I was late today. I was busy…
changing the world.

come on in, i will grow you

All bone meal and
stomach insides,
I am soil.
Soaked with womb water
and coffee grounds
black as creation.
Plunge your hands in,
feel for the seed that will become you.
There’s dreams in there.
Half opened, barely sprouting.
Leave them alone.

I think you know
I will hold you.
You could smell that
from the other side of the bar.
I think you could find the word Mother
written in the grid of my freckles.
It shares a T with the word Gift.
I have a soft spot for Beings who
do not know their own worth.
So, come on in.

I don’t care about headlines,
the things they say about women like me.
I don’t care if you have agendas,
I don’t dig deep enough to uncover motive.
I just see when love is needed and offer
whatever I have in exchange.
The sun will be up soon.
Let’s hide here,
under the covers.

I will place my
ear to your belly button and
listen for birth. Your stories
are the nametag piercing through
your chest. Let’s take that off now.
We know who You are.
Just breathe out.
You are broken bits of carbon
and belief systems,
The world needs that to survive
Even after you forget me
I will still grow you.