One I believe in choice That we chose to come here and we gathered everything necessary for the journey prior to arriving I believe that life is not a mystery but rather the unraveling of
riddles we wrote ourselves prior to our conception You, you are that riddle
written before your conception quadratic equation balancing on the breath of a
butterfly and the wings of a dream deferred and for too long you stood on
the edge of dawn listening to morning sing salutations to the Sun believing
that was a sign your life was over not understanding that every breath is
prophecy that you have just begun Two Press me between petal and page to preserve
my innocence I’ve lived for too long outside these walls sang songs to
shelter the souls of secrets waiting in waters too deep to baptize believers
been saved by reprieve granted to sinner who purged lie from rumor to rename
herself truth again and your reflection can’t hide from me.
I am all that you are and all that you’ll ever want to be so, baby, please..
Lay me like lilies against lilac sky and spread me sacred across open palms.
Untangle your withered dreams from these borrowed arms so our wings can blossom hope. I have heard the hush of angels humming holy hymns into the hallowed
hearts of forgotten things in Swan turned Phoenix with flaming wings while silence
abandoned love on the lips of winter so pray these words transform dagger into
tongue again and kiss the softest part of me breathe life into wanting belly so
by the death of dawn I will have birth and mortality Name him forever so
all futures to come will remember that on this night you loved me. Three In my mother’s country… when a child is born the severed umbilical cord is
buried with the seed and the tree that grows belongs to that child and that
child’s life is mirrored the life of that tree. Somewhere in Haiti stands a
mango tree that is my brother Brown braided and beautiful
he was planted back in the summer of 1972 back when my parents were new immigrants
back before they started dreaming in English back when their hearts still danced
to the rhythm in their accents Four My daughter thinks she’s a refrigerator that she can keep eggs
until she’s ready to use them she’s never respected expiration dates to her they were more like suggestions
like… cooking like men like marriage like children. Luckily, I have a son who thinks
he’s a rooster.