Changolita

Delta Dream

On the stove sit pots of potions, cooked all day to perfection.
But perfection is not the choice of ingredients.
No, it's in those black hands that move in passed down patterns.
Hands knowing all about a dab of this and a dab of that ...when to stir,
when to let it rest, when to begin it, when to end it.

Soulful mamma, I love your brother, father son. And by the way, your
husband too if he wasn't spoken for. I see how they come up to the house
after toiling time ... loving their children hitched right there on the hip as
if that particular place was specially made for carrying babies. They carry
me there vicariously.

Your sister, daughter, mother thought the cake I baked wasn't good
enough. She all spat out the crumb she felt forced to taste. It was made
with these white hands so never could it be correct. The rest of you stand
around like an audience, silent. All the big brown eyes in the front room
casting a vote of agreement with sister there.

Squeaking screen door slamming punctuates the big upset in my
departure. You cut me. I cried on the front porch searching the darkened
distance for my strong black daddy. I let it all hang out. Shout, wail,
weep and moan, I'm in labor, giving birth to the roots of the oldest pain.
Caught between two worlds and belonging not to a single one

That way juxtaposed I see positions from underneath the gun, reviled on
all sides. No mercy, no quarter on destiny's dirt road that runs through
and past slave fields. None to be had even in the place where it bends to
the edge of the cool river where I like to get naked and be with just me
chatting there with Simbi. Oh yes my sweet black daddy, come and get
your white woman child.

Take me, make me naked, scream me all up with them strong hands
exploring me like a starving thief. Bareback let me ride you slow and
gentle hard so I can make it good, and do it good, and feel it good ...the
thing that is that thing. Make it all over me, and in me, until I cum,
clenched fists, clenched feet, clenched soul, swimming through the soul
of you. That one is finger licking good.