... be moving much faster than your small mouth
moving slick over dirty words
flying
off the handle of how we need always
to hold the dagger
of being right
and how I find it hard to be gentle
when I am aching
God of small things
grant me grace
and compassion
to dance
in justice and beauty
I want to be so beautiful my lips ache
iron
with the taste of what I should have done
and what I should have never
allowed you to touch me
bleeding
I have loved so many times
learned
so many times cried so many times
and now the eyes are more cruel
than kind
and I see things I am afraid to own
a body can only hold
so many bullets
before it breaks into tears
and soon I am alone in my sadness
the fissure of how you made me less than gentle
and I never want to be
that way
inhuman
and righteous
again
I want to stand inside of myself
and feel the light
of all I have done well
I work hard to break shards of prisms
make many colors of this glass illusion
I wanted to be frail and mortal
I want rainbows
and truth
more supple skin to stretch the more elastic sides of me
how I yearn to bend
and not mind the slow slant
of matter reaching to be more than the intent of spirit
I desire the soft yolk of honesty
resting comfortable
on my breast
if you touch me
can I tell
if you hit me
would you rather I swallow your fist and declare myself
full
I rested in the arms of Stockholm
and caught myself basking in the sweet intention of women
with little to offer but hesitation
I thought twice
about what I mean when I say I am not American
or free
laughter is the second best thing
to coming all over myself
every throat has to giggle itself towards freedom
at least once in a lifetime
somebody has to find the will
to wretch
tongue stuck out for leverage
we must speak
of self
and other
and the invisible chorus will bathe the shadows with the glow of voices
thank you Ola
and Dell
and Alix and Pamela
and a girl named Sam
and Stigna
and Monica
and Tatiana- little girl with a basket
and flowers
and movies siphoned from the net
catch me something innocent
and I will begin this journey again
Ms. Madison D.
thank you for letting me see Chicago
and for smiling at my orchids
lest they miss me in full bloom
and my body is exhausted from these borders
and these clashes
my arm misses yours
warm
like summer in the instant before we become aware of fall
I love my breath
singular
in these episodes of falling
in love
and off wooden chairs
remember
we spilled champagne
and giggled
and kissed
and ate bread pudding in a place called Buttercup
in Brooklyn
and I love being alive
even if it hurts
more than I dream of death
even with fall coming again
I am not so afraid
my wide open grin will grind itself into the grimace of bearing it
but there are always these poems
and these pages upon which to write them
moments
how I endeavour to stand firm in them
grant me Grace
God of small things
hold me sacred
absolved
for I am certain my flesh
will sin again
forgive the inconstant flurry of bone over muscle
moments
in which the grandeur of effort
of self actualization
remains beautifully flawed
I leave you
gushing in the vein of the confessional,
Staceyann
it's cold.
but I have been working.
writing up a storm. holed up in my hotel room
with cheese and bread and juice.
I might buy another piece of silk, her in this quaint cobbles
streets of an ancient town
nothing much to say
I am the mad hatter today
pottering away at these poems
and this show that will open days after I arrive in New York
I miss the smell of my lover
that soft warm wiggle of my nose
that wakes me more often than not
at dawn
I miss her in the afternoon
when it is midnight somewhere else
and I am inside of myself
enjoying the yearning
for something beautiful and pungent
and filled with color
and words
love that produces art
is the greatest joining of hearts
some people just say they make art
but they want what they can get
from a pen pulling
blood and bits of bone from the bruises
left
but it is sweetest when you
see
at once that love was not what it looked like
in the eyes of a dragon
fire is not so beautiful whenit is dying
fake flames
filled with the green of envy
the glint might give the impression of truth
but lies eventually spill from such mouths
and soon
it becomes apparent
that teeth are not all you need for biting
lesson learned
lesson earned
don't call a man duppy
till you sure him dead
my granny is one smart old witch
and I am learning gentle hands upon my heart
are easier on my body
easy like my baby sister
giggling when I call our mother crazy
like the chilean teen who brings me chocolates in my hotel room
looks like my sister
she speaks three languages
and listens to Beyonce
I like the bounce and the step
of women who dare to live beyond what people say they need
from the world
the world owes me
nothing
but we owe each other
the world
the little folksinger has always had my heart
when she pulls those guitars strings I feel like somebody honest
is playing something worth listening to
ani difranco will always
rock my boat
keep me afloat
in the blood tides of my dance with suicides
my ressurection will stand as testament
Christ is my main man
when they are not using him to further
some plan
born of lucifer and his hand calling bitter toward
death
some moments
I am pulled to answer
but my woman and my grandmother
and even my mother
reaches for me
my friends will always catch me
Racquel
and Deean
and how I love the hopeful smile of these teens
Tatiana
Larah
two girls from different sides of the globe
same lives
same dark hair
same beautiful face
hopeful
making me leap
at the thought of a tomorrow,
giggles and hugs
from room the 3rd floor in Stockholm,
kiss the wind for me in Chile,
Staceyann
and the world spins a little slower than before.
the show is done
finally
the writing is something I can live with
and the staging is about to happen to my body
a body
a poem
pins and needles
will anyone come?
it's been three years since I did a show in New York
by myself
and everyone believes in my body
but me
strange thing
fails me
in these years
of not quite youth
Maziki I miss you
and Mijanne
it is good to have your laughter in my home
and Karl
and Racquel
I think of you all the time
and Dee
I miss mornings
with you in my ear
and Chaun
we are becoming friends again
and birthdays are simply
days
to watch the sun go down again
Happy Birthday Kim
and all these questions
and will I find the courage to be brave?
under the lights?
and the strange voice of a director?
and me?
not quite sure if this is a good idea anymore
I like tanks that wrap soft around my breasts
my belly allowed the room to breathe
is this the right path for learning
for seeing truth
buried in my feet slamming brutal on a South African floor
I want to see Japan
under the slide of Damion's smile
do you still miss me
Jamaican boy
ramble if you will
and the themes will recur
they need little urging under such hesitant hands
they come again
never mind the crippling fear
take the bloody thing off the computer
read it out loud
while packing
for Chicago
Stockholm
the calendar is incomplete
the run is limited
to what I am not sure
my mother leaves me in my dreams she comes back as a frog and I am not prince enough to save her
come back to me my language
my lover
of religion
I want to be Tao
sit in the moment
for just one moment
sit with me
and my body will promise you centuries of staying
no leaving for the likes of me and my kin
we will always be living in motal sin
against God and man
we whistle and crow and fuck and fight
and DH Lawrence
had the whole thing figured out
he did what he could with our frail hint at humanity
Godness
is lost uopn the hunt for good
God is a sign
pointing away from self
look at the trees
see the earth muddy and bleeding
see me
and flail
pray with your hands
plant your feet firm into the soil
something will eventually grow from there
Curtain goes up on August 5th
see you there
(hopefully)
Staceyann