When Young Mothers Die of Cancer II

Somewhere in Maryland a
young mother is dying.
Down in Houston her mother grieves.
In California her children play together,
as she would have liked had she
lived long enough to see it.

At night sometimes she comes to them,
her smell sweet and familiar,
her hug warm and longed for.
She wraps them tight in memory.

In the morning they say nothing
Afraid someone will tell them it wasn't real.

When Young Mothers Die of Cancer I

If you want to know whether life is fair
just look to the young mother dying of cancer.

There is no reason, no rhythm, no why
just grief
and sorrow
and loss
Of hugs
and birthdays
and the future
and hope

They know what we are afraid to admit.
That the only thing this money can't really buy
is more time.

Blackberries

For Allen

My favorite memory will be picking blackberries with you
on the way to Boyle's swimming hole.
The path was well lit and sunny and dusty
like I remembered.
There were no cattails but the reeds were as high as our heads.
Blackberry thorns pricked on both sides.
Ripe fruit was scarce but
I reached into the briars
risking skin and limb because blackberries
are your favorite
and I would do anything for you.

Inheritance 2

If they needed further evidence that our lives matter
they could find it each year at Camp
where I watch Black children of every hue
simply live their joy
seeds expanding into unending potential
kissed by the sun

To know that my son will find refuge
in this place every second week in August
as did I and his grandfather before him
fills me with relief

It is an inheritance of the most precious kind
A place we will always belong

Coastal

It is possible that there are
cliffs like these in other places but
I refuse to believe they are as beautiful.
That anywhere else the sky forms
a more elegant tapestry.
That those other waves crash as symphonically
against such perfectly carved rocks.
That the song the sea foam sings on other shores
is as sweet as the lullaby I hear right now.

The Show

You can pay $18.50 for a ticket to the planetarium 

or you can sit in a field unpolluted by lights 

during the Perseid meteor shower.  

The crickets will narrate 

instead of Morgan Freeman.

The temperature in the theater 

is subject to change without notice

and since the footage is unedited 

your patience is required. 

Still, you can be quite certain 

that the universe extends beyond the ceiling

that the infinity of stars are twinkling in real time and 

that the one you just watched has not already 

been used up on some other person's wish. 

Miss Me A Little

My ego wants to be needed
needs to be wanted
I am facing a fear
It bubbles up from below
I am not longer at the center
at the hub
in the middle of it all
I walked away and they filled my
place and now I am scared the
emptiness didn't hit them
and they won't miss me at all
now that I am gone.
It's my ego speaking, that needs
to be soothed, to feel pity, to
be reassured.
I know I was there and we all want to
leave a piece of ourselves behind
but this world is made of
sand and when the winds blow us away
when the waves wash over
maybe the footprint stays and maybe it disappears
but it doesn't mean you didn't walk
you didn't step
you didn't leave that mark.