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Category Archives: change

My pain
is like those white spots
you see in the sky at night…

It’s where the light shines thru.

And my love
for all of my past loves
is like the moon
Overtime
you might see less of me
but I’ll always be there
for you.

B.

Cigarettes have a subtle way of slathering succulence
to the itty bitty
holes inside my person
I was surprised to see so many holes were there
but in the moment those vacant lots
began to fill up with air
I was
full again

with emptier pockets
and bigger holes

I accused
the cigarette, called it perpetrator
for poking fingers
into open wounds
just to see how far it could go before touching bone
when really
it was the wound to blame
for foolishly inviting an arsonist in for company
into my home

Don’t you know
how
smoke
persuades
me
and my wounds
dance
when wounds
know very well
the first toke could be my last
but damn,
what’s another inhale
to an exhale
what’s another inhale to an exhale full in its release
with a consistency of relief
when every inhale is a struggle
every breath making the concept of Life
seem like a disease

Between being under the influence
between having a choice
and having a chance
in the end
every feeling, person, and habit will experience death
no matter how, what or why
no matter how good of a dancer you are
no matter how good you are
at frisking the sky
you will surprise yourself… and then you will die

and while you’re aware of your dying
that’s when you’re really living

Maybe
I won’t smoke the other half of yesterday’s cigarette tonight

maybe

instead

I will meditate
on who’s smoking the other half of me

Britta B.

When my Papa passed away
although painful
it wasn’t tragic

His funeral was the most beautiful gathering I had ever been to
Black people
of all shades
came together in celebration of his life
Black people
of all degrees of enslavement
came together in celebration of their own lives
We wore colours
We ate soul food
I sat with snot and tears like candle grease on my face as I filled my tummy
filling the room
with an extra pair of shoes
an extra prayer saying grace
I’m telling you like it is because it feels like it was
just yesterday
just an hour ago
when my father
burst into my bedroom
woke me from an afternoon slumber

sun shining
but no light in him

I distinctly remember how hot-damned-well that sun was shining
beaming
bitterly
as I hurried to pick up a lamp that knocked out the light
from my father’s pretty dark brown eyes
and held him
trembling
like he was child again
trembling like he was small again
in my Silly String arms
sucking air and bellowing back, “He’s gone! My daddy’s gone!”

At the funeral, a youth gospel choir sang “One Glad Morning”
and I always confuse that one line for “One Black Morning”
probably
because
that’s what death means to me:
running out of light to give

Thankfully, my father
still has light to give

He found it on a highway, I believe
where he was beckoned to an honourable memory
of his hero
Sometimes
the signs are designed
to reach us at eye level
and others greet us
6 feet
under sound

Britta B.