Dream Deferred

Are we concerned that the faces of anguish and desperation
On rooftops, in apartment buildings, sleeping on highways
Wary from the walk, surviving the rising tide
Tired feet, sore bodies, hungry children
Walking to a promised land
Of sorts
Are we concerned that the faces of the nameless and homeless,
On television 24/7 or the hundreds of thousands still trapped
Susceptible to the devastating disease one never feared in
AMERICA
Walking to a land of broken promises,
Are those of our beautiful ebony brothers and sisters?

"I want to go to Canaan,
I want to go to Canaan,
I want to go to Canaan,
To meet 'em at de comin' day.
O, remember, let me go to Canaan”

The Superdome. Is that today’s Canaan?
My dear, I must complain about gas prices again!
Trying to get food anywhere, cause you haven’t eat nothin’ in days.
My dear, arrest those looters!
Baby, I lost everything. You did too. Think you’re gonna set up shop again in a few days.
Set up again, honey. My ass. Call ME a looter again.
Baby, what can I do? Show me your humanity. Give my children food as you do your own. Pray for me as you do yourself. Make love to your man, lay with him after and remind me what it feels like to be human. Cause right now, I’m not. They says that some souls have passed since the storm and others have come into this world since the wind done gone. I suppose that’s right. We gotta keep on livin, Don’t have much choice.

Among those which were not real

It is irreverent to write about her life after deconstructing the social structure of Miami. That evening, she went to the bar and watched my Yankees and engaged in mutual seduction afterwards. Thus began the beginning of debauchery at the end of her time in Miami. The source of her tears as she sat on a plane as a woman who knew what she was leaving. Friends. Lovers. Heat. But with knowledge that she survived, grew, befriended, and finally loved. And her Cat. Fully in possession of herself as a woman. And she thanked Miami for that.

“Among those which were not real”

I miss the way my breasts and hips were worshiped.
The tropical breeze fluttering among lithe palms,
A sultry cadence of voices from the Americas
Mixed among African beats and writhing bodies.
The frenzied calm of Kendall, the Neon Lincoln Road, and Deco of Ocean Drive
Among the pristine key beaches and the salacious south beach.
The spicy rays of sunshine beam through an afternoon shower
While we sipped martinis
Relaxed in the still of the pool
Curled in the crevices of each other
Undressed
Unfurled
Uncovered
Unadulterated
I miss the way my breasts and hips were worshiped.

Tiramisu

"It is said that during the Renaissance periods, Venetian women made these to be shared with their men during the late hours because they believed it would give them the energy to make more vigorous love later."

I love the sensual process of making Italian food. Especially when it is from my people. Although there is some debate as to the origins of the dessert, I am of the Treviso line of though. Yay Northern Italy. Yay Grandpa.