Author: poetryfest

“Even the Nile remembers.”

The Nile runs red
beneath the sky

where minarets weep
and mothers cry.

Not glory
but grief
inscribes this verse

a wound
a warning
a silent curse.

Brothers once bound
by flesh and flame

are scattered now
no names
no claim.

One buried deep
in Omdurman’s sand,

one vanished far
without a hand.

I curse the generals’
polished lies,

who strip the sun
from Nubian skies.

They drink from blood,
they starve the land,

while children fade
to dust
and sand.

Yet still I speak.
I carve their names

in lines of fire,
in verse,
in flames.

The generals’ throne
will one day fall

the Nile will rise
and cleanse it all.

I don’t care for jesus,
but I pray for the bus driver. Everyday,
while my pen bounces on the page,
I write, “Give this man 1,000 blessings,
no, 100,000. Maybe 1 million this time.”
But how many blessings
could a stranger give?
When he sees me in a button down
and pants I ironed the night before,
I wonder if he feels a spark
of joy in my familiarity. I feel a spark,
but I know I feel more than most,
because he didn’t know I cried,
and screamed, “I love him so much,”
when I got off by the train station,
and I rehearse in my head when I tell him
“Good morning” and “Thank you,”
or wave up at him
since the door further is closer,
that I look forward to him,
that his polo and shorts
means a good day for me. I wonder
if he gets disappointed when he doesn’t
see me at my stop, since I only work
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. I wish
I prayed, because my hope for him
should go somewhere. He stopped the bus
just for me—because damn me! I had
lost faith in that good man
when my phone told me there would be no
8:07 or 8:06, or sometimes he’s here at
8:05, and I decided to shuffle over to the train
station by foot. But, by god! I should never
doubt a man who runs red lights for me.
He crosses his arms and taps that
leg impatiently if he ever has to wait at a red.
So I wrote 1,000 more blessings
for his friends and family, and
I wondered if I should buy him cookies.
He needs to know my gratitude.
He’s a little timid, but he’s got a good spirit,
and I can’t believe he would even
apologize to me! To me?
He’s bald like my father, a kind, Black man, too,
and I wonder if he’s always this soft-spoken,
maybe I remind him of a daughter he has.
I slide the right side of my headphones over
when I greet him, because I’d hate to miss
the sound of his voice. He waved me off
when my bus card didn’t work. I wonder
what his soul is like. I tell all my friends about him,
and I wish they could meet him, too.
Bus driver, I might try religion again just for you.

The night sky,
A glimmering cluster of stars,
From the window,
Thousands of houses alight with family,
Together,
Enjoying time with each other.

The beach,
Waves calm and tranquil,
A couple sitting in the sand,
Reminiscing of their first date together,
As they embark on marriage, a new life together.

Summer is the beginning,
The end of all things hurting.
A new life to live,
A new mission to love.

‘m not sure I’ve done the right thing
When the bullet hit
I had second thoughts
As the shot rang out
I remembered what I did
And that I’m not perfect either
I know I’ve made mistakes
In all the worst ways
But I’m not sure this is deserved
This volley of fire
As a punishment
It is too harsh
What is the justification?
Why me?

But now, what else could I do?

Why me?
What is the justification?
It is too harsh
As a punishment
This volley of fire
But I’m not sure this is deserved
In all the worst ways
I know I’ve made mistakes
And that I’m not perfect either
I remembered what I did
As the shot rang out
I had second thoughts
When the bullet hit
I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing

turn the torn pages
bring in a new synonym
hope is for children

Dreams dissolve as daylight dawns
Leaving me stranded on a shoal of uncertainty
Slowly my mind registers familiar sensations
The soft pillow cradling my head,
The comforting quilt that hugs me,
The firm mattress supporting me.
Leaving behind fleeting remnants of dreams delivered in sepia tones,
I open my eyes to another beginning.
I burrow deeper into the safe comfort of my quilt
Reluctant to breathe in the day,
But the light filtering through gauze curtains acts as my lighthouse,
Piercing my mind fog, guiding me through the waves
Of should and musts and wills
Breaking against the shoreline of consciousness
With a sigh,, I toss aside the warmth
And step forth purposefully
To choose garments,
To run a brush through my hair,
To gaze at the face staring back at me in the mirror
Never asking “Who’s the fairest of them all?”
It was never me.
The lines etched across my forehead
Are a map of a lifetime journey
Charting challenges met, loves lost in turbulent seas, routes too treacherous to travel
I meet the years courageously, defiance in my eyes
Exploding in ephemeral stillness.

Shattered into pieces
Trying to put it together
Who is the girl I see?
I can’t seem to recognize her

Each part is different
Every piece is similar
Struggle to remember each one
They all seem so familiar

I study each segment
Attempt to see what’s hidden
Each image seems so normal
Each expression seems so forbidden

I try to attach each one
As they all look so mundane
Want to make them colorful
As they seem like they’re hiding their pain

I finally see past their image
Looking beyond each imperfection
What was hiding underneath?
It was just my reflection

I lie in the dark
Trying my best to sleep
But each time I close my eyes
I have nightmares instead of dreams

Thinking about what happened
Dreaming about what could be
No matter how hard I try
I cannot seem to sleep

I worry about the future
As the recent past has been unkind
I’m trying to let it go
But I can’t shut off my mind

My body tells me yes
My brain tells me no
I recall that I loved to sleep early
But it just seems so long ago

I stare up at the ceiling
Thinking that sleep was my friend
Don’t know why it’s rejecting me
Seems like the night will never end.

The Rusted gate of winter
swings half open
to spring’s garden emerging.

I walk my nieces, five and six, to school,
wearing my dad’s down coat,
A warm cocoon
against the Colorado cold.

The girls’ pigtails
bounce in child motion,
eyes open to weeds and small yellow flowers
peeking out from snow’s crust.
Heating up in the morning light,
they have thrown off their coats.

I will go to the hospital after this walk,
to watch over my father,
who lies beside a season ending,
eyes turned to a horizon,
only he can see.

Before we get to the playground,
the phone rings.
“He is gone”, my brother says.
A grown man, his voice full of tears.

I do not tell the girls the news
of their great-grandfather’s passing.
He loved to joke with them about dancing
at their weddings as they played dolls
beneath his age-swollen feet.
We wanted his humor,
his love of cars, poetry, and Sams Club
to go on.

I handed the girls over to their school day,
innocent of the universal subtraction
that over the years
gain velocity till it takes us all.

As I walk from the school
Spring’s gate slams shut, winter takes over again
I zip up my father’s coat,
draw his essence around me,
and prepare for the lonely walk
to his now-emptied house.

Deserted, isolated, all alone,
Flowers breezing in the air,
One step then two steps,
Walk through the mix of flowers
Of poppies, daisies and roses too,
When will the flowers blossom again?

The sound of bees all around,
The clouds brighten and come alive,
The smell of pollen and roses too,
When will the flowers blossom again?

In isolation and be wilderness,
The flowers blossom,
Stalks strengthen,
Petals brighten,

In isolation and be wilderness,
The flowers will truly blossom again

The only ways to establish dominance are
To kill
Or tame

That is why women are so often
Likened to a wild animal

But maybe both animal and woman
Were never meant for anything but
Belonging to themselves