One of a kind. Thank goodness.

Happy birthday, Dad!

boing



Today:
     Warm (42!) and rainy
     Dad's birthday
     Made hamantaschen
     Didn't study
     Breathed deep

Spring is coming.

Up into the wee hours watching "Heart of Gold". With love.



...

Is it my birthday yet?

The Talking Back of Miss Valentine Jones: Poem # one by June Jordan


well I wanted to braid my hair

bathe and bedeck my

self so fine

so fully aforethought for

your pleasure

see:

I wanted to travel and read

and runaround fantastic

into war and peace:

I wanted to

surf

dive

fly

climb

conquer

and be conquered

THEN

I wanted to pickup the phone

and find you asking me

if I might possibly be alone

some night

(so I could answer cool

as the jewels I would wear

on bareskin for you

digmedaddy delectation:)

"WHEN

you comin ova?"

But I had to remember to write down

margarine on the list

and shoepolish and a can of

sliced pineapple in casea company

and a quarta skim milk cause Teresa's

gaining weight and don' nobody groove on

that much

girl

and next I hadta sort for darks and lights before

the laundry hit the water which I had

to kinda keep an eye on be-

cause if the big hose jumps the sink again that

Mrs. Thompson gointa come upstairs

and brain me with a mop don' smell too

nice even though she hang

it headfirst out the winda

and I had to check

on William like to

burn hisself to death with fever

boy so thin be

callin all day "Momma! Sing to me?"

"Ma! Am I gone die?" and me not

wake enough to sit beside him longer than

to wipeaway the sweat or change the sheets/

his shirt and feed him orange

juice before I fall out of sleep and

Sweet My Jesus ain but one can

left

and we not thru the afternoon

and now

you (temporarily) shownup with a thing

you says' a poem and you

call it

"Will The Real Miss Black America Standup?"



guilty po' mouth

about duty beauties of my

headrag

boozeup doozies about

never mind

cause love is blind



well

I can't use it



and the very next bodacious Blackman

call me queen

because my life ain shit

because (in any case) he ain been here to share it

with me

(dish for dish and do for do and

dream for dream)

I'm gone scream him out my house

be-

cause what I wanted was

to braid my hair/bathe and bedeck my

self so fully be-

cause what I wanted was

your love

not pity

be-

cause what I wanted was

your love

your love

sugar shack

Mmmm, sugar. My Floridian yearning for maple sugar candy transcended homesickness and became heimweh. Maybe it still is, but for some childhood non-tradition: my abortive attempt at sugar on snow (oh, boiled to a thick syrup? not just out of the jug?), a bluetinged Holga image of red scarf and dark trees.

Whatever. Spring is here!