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.
Category Archives: poetry
Life is a cliff-hanger
some of us are the cliffs with clingy grievances hanging from our shoes and ankles
some of us refuse to let go of these people we feel sorry for
some of us are escape artists
built with strength and emotional power to pull ourselves up
and onto the cliff
not knowing there will be more cliffs
not knowing there will be more people and events to hold us down
like the string of a helium balloon tied to a chair or to a wrist
I am small and bound to burst
I am full and cannot flee my purpose
Britta B.
The pursuit
is the truth
My passion has clouded my clarity
with boisterous,
bulging cloud formations
Beautiful, passing, plump
Everything up to this point
directed me to a warm moment of panic
a painful relief
I have not been touched
with such tender assurance
than when I was
disappointed
The sweet prize was
disguised as a goal –
something to aim for
when the Truth was having
a barrel to look through
down
into
Britta B.
There’s just something about somebody
who just
shows up
unannounced, no calls
no signals
just appears
He just shows up
from around the corner
gives you that look
that you can’t look
away from
Britta B.
Virtually trapped on a
literal locomotive
I go places only with my body
while my mind sits, stuck working
overtime
filing memories from the wastebasket
into fresh refurbished cabinets
Oh this present
just isn’t as good as
what I can make the past become…
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.
You look
so
divine
You must have discarded
a whole heap of dirty garb
to get that clean
How did you
shed the rust
of your unhelpful relatives?
How did you free
the remedy of your inherent habits?
Can you take it for what it is
if you bring
it out of me?
Nature has Her ways, souls
rubbing souls
for Earthly calibration
I am the catalyst
You are the Scientist’s prescription
for a healthy heart
Good health
is sensitive to unhealthy servants
and no one knows it more than you
how even the undeserving have a purpose
“There’s nothing more necessary
than the unnecessary”
There’s nothing more divine than losing your religion
As I sit
with you
under the toenail of a
closed cathedral
I wonder, what if
out of the 144,000
you were the first
When the question hitches a ride with
the westbound wind
you catch on too with your photo-maker
causing a traffic jam raising the blade
of your eyebrow all to say without sound:
I’d be the first to refuse
See, this is why I like you
you’re no anchor
no black hole ether
You just haven’t met anyone
who catches light
like you yet
Britta B.
Manipulators don’t like
to be manipulated
Facilitators don’t like
to be facilitated
But a fool!
A fool loves to be fooled…
Britta B.
In the liquor store
I don’t put things back
where I found them
What makes you think
when you’ve reached the bottom
you’ve been put back in your place?
Britta B.
yeh u kno me! 