FREEDOM.
His feet ached--terribly so. With each pound into the sticks and earth he winced with pain. The air in his lungs was stale and brief...his heart beat on and on. A drum in his chest. Salty sweat made lines along his face's curve and his eyes were wide with terror. He ran on.
"Don't look back." The man told himself.
"Keep running..." The man told himself.
And he could hear others snaking through the trees along their own routes. Rushing toward an unknown. Running. For running's sake.
His knees wouldn't give out.
His panting unwavering.
The hooves grew closer. He knew the fate of a caught man. He knew the fate of a listless wanderer.
The hounds drew nearer.
A cry in the dark.
A body hit the ground.
A scream pierced the night and struck out at the watchful moon.
But the man ran on.
Maybe to freedom.
I AM...ber Light
Maybe I'm favored. Maybe the faint taste of ripe berries on my tongue suggests my connection with the divine. You called me here. And HERE I AM. With all my shrouded glory and impeccable flaws--I answered the call. And came. I vaguely recall the ritual--while some details have escaped me. The white linens about my waist, the warmth of the sand...the cool laps of sweet water between my toes.
The moon above. The stars' quiet compliance. And still reverance.
The smell of fragrant oils Kendada anointed my temples with. The loud drums and the calls to the WILD. We came to the land to meet and be merry. And somehow we lost our way. You called me here to remind me of the purpose...to remind me of the CALL. All about me are whispers of vanity and ruinous devotions to absurd gods. You have called me here to allow me an opportunity to drink with the REAL gods...and dance with them...and feast with them...and swim with the...gods.
And I've awakened. With stones and sand and sticks and dunes and amber light all around me.
In a stupor of Oshun's delight. And I'm swell. Swell, I AM.
Before You Could Write.
Can you remember a time when dew made a sponge of the grass beneath your feet; and the dandelions were playthings...and the long druuuuuuuuummmmmmmm of planes overhead made light of your senses? Do you remember a time when you remembered strange dreams upon waking and hurried to catch your favorite television program; begging for popsicles on hot and sticky summer days? Do you remember? Do you remember the intrigue of Christmas morning...the smell of pine needles etching their way through a season of immaculate fortune...peering around corners for lost ones in games of hide-and-seek? Do you remember loathing twilight and picking up sneakers to try them on before your parents bought them? Waking before sunlight? Licking syrup from your lips? Resting your chin upon your forearms for the sake of a daydream? Wanting to make someone proud?
Scribbling unfamiliar words on paper...before...you...could...write?
Parks and Home
She wasn’t really that tired. She had things to do. Things she wanted to do. She hadn’t really thought much about her journey home--but she knew that she was ready to be there. She knew she was ready to soak her feet in the basin. Maybe add some salt to the water. She knew she had a taste for neck-bones and collard greens. She’d add a bit of paprika to the water as it boiled. Maybe sprinkle some basil from her garden in it too. She knew she had some reading to do too. Just a little bit. Her eyes were tired. Staring at folks all day. Reading long lines of words which had nothing much to do with the things which mattered to her most.
Her shawl barely covered her collarbone--leaving it exposed to the harsh southern sun. And loose hair was constantly being tucked behind her ear for want of better views. Strands which did what they wanted when they wanted.
The bus didn’t appear to be crowded. Good. A few patrons greeted her with half-smiles as she made her way to the colored section. They were all tired. Lazy faces and eager hearts wanting home. Awaiting good meals and something refreshing to wash them down with. That’s where they were all headed. Home. The entire lot of them. And she knew this. And that was all right.
She spotted a seat available.
It appeared commonly comfortable.
She manuevered her way past the lady with the blue ribbon in her hair. A girl. Not quite a lady.
“Ma’am.” The girl politely whispered, shifting her legs to make room for her elder.
She sat.
And waited for home.
The man came on abrubtly.
He carried in his arms a case and a bottle of pop.
His forehead was wrinkled and his eyes harsh and unkind.
He demanded she get up.
Then the busdriver from his place up front demanded the same.
She contemplated--for a moment--resisting. And making her own demands. She contemplated for a moment--stirring the pot of hesitancy.
But she decided against it.
She longed for home.
So,
she peered out the window.
Adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder.
And manuevered herself around the man and his heavy shoulders and forehead wrinkles and harsh eyes--being careful not to mash the toes of the young girl with the blue ribbon.
He sat down gruffly.
She avoided his eyes the rest of the way--from her place in the aisle. Staring directly ahead. Lost in her own mind. One arm extended above her--maintaining balance. The other limp and ready for home.
Abandon...
Bless me with your favor,
Soften me with your tongue,
Lift me up to savor,
All that you’ve become.
Strike me with your madness,
Soothe me with your guilt,
Cover me with gladness,
Absorb my tear’s lost silt.
Anger all the lost ones,
Pander to their glee—
Hunker down with demons,
Stand—then take a knee.
Lose all that you hoped for,
Gain all that you hate,
Lock the chains to hell’s door,
Abandon heaven’s gate.
LET ME LOOSE.
Let me loose. Let me go on my way and let me reclaim my sanity in all its glory and all its wonder. And all its hallowed grace. Let me loose to live again. Let me give up the ghost of expectation and vibrate innately with the remnants of a time that was and a place long gone. Let me loose to fixate on the beauty that is pain and the beauty that is heartache. Oh wicked and foul soul, do allow me to sit atop the pillar of solvency and glow with the warmth of the tide of life. Let the raindrops trickle on down and pool at the core of my soul so that my root might be enhanced, so that my sacral might churn with lust--once more. Let me loose to pilfer ancient dreams and cast away the demons of short sight. Let me loose to walk among the dead and sate my sorrows with stories told and laughter bellowing from other worlds and murky depths. Let me loose to go against the grain and wash my curiosity down with the dregs of birthing pains. Let me loose to lose my way again and again and again and again. That I might live once more.
Hoodoo You Love?
Hoodoo You Love?
What Gina wanted more than anything in the world was to be beautiful. To feel beautiful. And to be regarded as such.
She was attractive, boyishly so. But she did not command the same attention and adoration as, say, her sister Crystal.
Crystal had bright brown eyes and skin the color of mahogany. Crystal was bold and erudite and compelled admiration. Gina harbored a ruinous envy in the midst of her love for Crystal.
Not even a year apart--the two girls shared a bittersweet kinship. Gina followed Crystal closely...and hung on to her every word.
As the girls matured--men began to knock on their door in pursuit of their father’s blessing to court the girls. And of course, Crystal always received the more noble and austere requests; for the men in pursuit of her were men of a particular kind of dignified manner. Men whose fathers held rank, and men whose surnames were accented with numerals indicative of lineage.
In an effort to align her privileges with her sister’s, Gina decided to meet with the witch lady, Beulah, on the south side of town. She had heard rumors of Beulah’s ability to garner attraction and make maiden’s appear more beautiful than fawns. All Beulah was said to request in return was a single silver coin. Real and unblemished.
On the eve of Crystal’s wedding--Earl Williams had proposed, gained their father’s favor, and planned a summer wedding to unite him and Crystal--Gina packed a sackcloth with a single silver dollar and an apple in case she became hungry along her journey. She allowed the waning moonlight to illuminate her path and in an hour’s time, stood before Beulah’s home.
Once invited in, Gina observed the wicker furniture...and candles situated in the far east corner of the room. She peered at the skulls and the bones and jars containing unfamiliar herbal blends.
“What you here for, gal?” Asked Beulah, offering her a seat at the table at the center of the dining room.
“I wish to be beautiful. I wish to have the love my sister has. The popularity she gains for her beauty.” Remarked Gina...meeting Beulah’s eyes with hers and simultaneously revealing the contents of her sackcloth.
“You a pretty gal, child. What make you think you ain’t beautiful?” Beulah slipped her hand beneath her gown and revealed a pipe. She stuffed it with a tobacco blend she had scooped into her palm from a small mound at the center of the table; she struck a match and lit the pipe. She took a long draw from the pipe. Exhaled. Then poked the pipe through the smoke’s ringlets.
“You’se a pretty gal.” She repeated.
A dog barked in the distance, shifting Gina’s attention away from the old woman. Embarrassingly, she peered down at the exposed contents of her sackcloth.
“Can you help me, Mama Beulah?” She asked sincerely.
“Beauty is a tricky thing. What others see, sometimes we don’t. And what we see, others sometimes won’t.” The lady began...and leaned back in her chair so that its front legs hovered above the floor.
“Beauty through magic is a tricky thang, child.” She let the legs come crashing to the floor, drew on her pipe, and let out a deep sigh.
Growing weary at the unknown, Gina gathered her items and placed them back in her sackcloth; she took another glance about the small abode, and stood to leave.
“Change your mind, child?” Beulah remained planted. Her eyes now smiling. Her crooked, toothless grin exposed. She emptied the contents of her pipe in a tray beside the mound of tobacco.
“I wasn’t always a witch, gal. At one time...didn’t know no better. And couldn’t nobody tell me I wasn’t the most beautiful thing walking. But I knew it fuh myself.” She took her index finger and traced lines through the mound of tobacco so that a swirling pattern resulted. Then she placed her index finger in her mouth and chewed slowly--tracing her gums with its tip. Gina remained standing--in between worlds.
“Sit yo ass down. I know what you want. Gimme’ dat’ silver.”
Gina reached into her sackcloth for the silver dollar and placed it in Beulah’s begging palm.
“Thank you, Beulah.” She muttered abashedly. Her eyes met Beulah’s and she detected something foreign in them. She returned to her chair drawing her sackcloth into her bosom.
“I need you to do one thing for me first, child.” Beulah stood before Gina and lifted her garments to reveal the bare wrinkled body beneath. Her legs appeared weak and shriveled and her lady parts hardly discernible for all the hair and wrinkles. Gina jumped out of her chair with alarm.
“This ain’t nothing to be afraid of. I need you to bring me pleasure until I say it’s done.” Beulah limped over to a rotting sofa in the corner of the larger room adjacent to the dining area in which they sat. She spread her old legs wide and far apart. With her index finger, she made wide circles about the space between her wrinkled thighs. She moaned slightly and gestured for Gina to join her on the sofa.
Abandoning reason, Gina joined her on the sofa. She leaned into the gray bush of the woman’s genitals and licked and swallowed and attempted to please her as best she could. Coming up for air...she sheepishly peered at the woman’s face. To her surprise, Beulah appeared young and beautiful and alluring! The old woman had been replaced with a young woman entirely unlike the old woman who had repelled her. This woman’s skin was soft and dewey. Her eyelashes thick and her eyes a golden brown. Her thighs tight and agile. Gina buried her face even deeper between them and awaited the woman’s call of pleasure as she ground and pressed her body so hard against Gina’s face that the girl began to scrape at her thighs for want of air.
Beulah released a shrill moan of pleasure and dug her nails deep into the creases behind Gina’s ears.
“Now go fetch me that bottle in the window. The one with the moon water.” She said in between exhalations.
Gina lifted herself from the floor and steadied herself to retrieve the bottle. The bottle sat on the windowsill, but as she attempted to move toward it her legs became light and weak. She was unable to walk without buckling. Her weight sent her plunging to the floor.
She could hear Beulah’s riotous laughter as she writhed and attempted to regain the feeling and strength in her legs.
“Did you like it?” Beulah stood--regal and glowing above her. She lifted her garments once more and thrust herself into Gina’s face.
“It’s almost done.” She whispered.
With her strength returned to her...Gina steadied herself once more and moved toward the jar. Beulah instructed her to drink it. She did. The water had no taste...it barely felt like anything going down her throat at all.
“Now gon’ on from here.” Beulah shouted. Her wrinkles and original appearance now returned to her.
“Beauty ain’t shit...but a curse to the wicked.” She laughed.
“But that’s what you want...and that’s what you got. Wicked fool.” She pushed Gina beyond the threshold of her home and slammed the door behind her.
Gina could hear her shrill laughs--like laughter from beyond the grave.
She spat at the ground, smoothed her tongue over her teeth, and marched home.
*************************************************************************************
The following dawn, she served as maid of honor at Crystal’s wedding. Everyone marveled at her beauty. “You’re even more beautiful than the bride!” One guest gushed.
“Did you see Gina?” She overheard a guest at the buffet, “Gorgeous.”
Smiling with satisfaction and relief, she enjoyed the day’s festivities and even danced with her sister for several songs. As the party began to fade and the guests were bid adieus, she made her way to the buffet where silver trays sat empty and discarded. She lifted one to peer at her beauty.
To her shocking alarm, her face appeared a monster’s. Her eyes were hollow and her lips twisted. Lines stretched across her face--aged and resilient. Her neck looked as though it belonged to a woman of a much more mature age. Her hands, although appearing youthful when held up in front of her eyes, appeared old and wrinkled when observed through the tray’s reflection.
Defeated,
she trudged to the embankment just beyond the buffet’s canopy and sat. She pressed her palms into the spongy grass until she felt earth and peered out at nothing and no one. She licked her lips and tasted the saltiness of the witch’s juices from the night before. She winced with disgust then drowned herself in the river beyond the bank.