Wicked Enchantment. Wanda Coleman
my gums are bleeding. scurvy?
it rubs. twists. kicks. moves
sex? it takes too much out of me
the flu. food poisoning. cold
too tight pants bite me
preparation: pelvic spread. vaginal walls widen
forty pounds and climbing
showers. no more long hot luxury baths
muumuus and mules. naked = relief
his ear to my stomach to hear the heart beat
emergency cookies
it presses against my diaphragm. it’s hard to
breathe. can’t sleep good. dreams
more dreams. it’s a boy. it’s a girl
backaches. swollen feet
refrigerator lover, clandestine rendezvous at 2 AM
advice from the experienced, questions from the barren
the planets are lining up in scorpio
suitcase packed and ready
names for him. names for her
(everybody-else-we-know-who’s-pregnant-is-having
a-perfect-baby pressure)
sex? oh yeah. used to be fun
it turns. kicks. twists
that’s me in the mirror, definitely
why doesn’t it hurry up and come
crying jags. throb of false labor
will he be there
when it’s time?
My Love Brings Flowers
a bouquet
for all the reasons
he does not have to give
it’s material things make married so hard
i make one chicken feed five
make clothes ten years old fashionable
rejuvenate one fake sable coat
poverty endows one with magic
(how to do without turns garden to weed)
basil and blackthorn
my voice i have no thing
henbane and wild thyme
i scrape bottom
nettle and rye
i sweep out dead dreams
plum buds and tamaris
i promise the kids
moss and china asters
i borrow from friends
ivy yucca and wild rue
dark empty arms
money be as mad as you can afford
poor demands be alert, on the dime, sane
clumsy moment, a week’s pay gone. too heavy a foot
$70 in brake repairs. a forgotten pill is $400
to abort. soon they’ll corner the market on air
i’ll gasp and curse my skin
unable to breathe
(ganja takes the stiff out, wine cuts the knot)
he comes in with a bouquet of smiles
i love him for the first time again
down to dirty sheets and stinky socks
down to unpaid bills and beans 4 times a week
to the bone
to the blood rose
Felon
my heart comes thru my skin
they’ve snatched my kids
if the police catch me home i’m sunk
(when handcuffed the first and greatest itch
is my nose)
better find some place to spend the night
the car
sleep behind the wheel behind the
apartment building in winter night cold
doors locked
i wake but the scream goes on
can’t tell mama about this
crimester. only crime i’m guilty of trying to
play alice straight in crookedland
money bitch. can’t get hold of it
if the cops stop me it’s jail without bail
drive. careful. one eye on the road
one eye on the rear view. one eye on tomorrow
| help | county hospital psycho ward |
| the gay psychiatrist tells me “write a book” | |
| my employer saves my neck cuz it’s his wallet | |
| his attorney thinks i’m a cut above scum | |
| the foster mother smiles beneath her black bouffant wig | |
| and tells me my children are well behaved |
| court | the judge is black-robed and pleasant |
| nods. extenuating circumstance (so rare to see | |
| a nigger here on somethin’ other than homicide dope | |
| prostitution rape robbery) | |
| yes | |
| the records are sealed |
they almost took me out this time
provide he said. provide
the condition of my release/getting them back
in my custody
i must provide (try to make a dollar outta 15¢)
i will. with difficulty
but i will
’Tis Morning Makes Mother a Killer
mean
the day grinds its way slowly into her back/a bad
mattress stiffens her jaw
it is the mindless banalities that pass as conversation
between co-workers
her paycheck spread too thin across the bread of
weeks; too much gristle and bone and not enough
blood
meatless