hello, all. :)

i'm currently reacquainting myself with the boy in the cupboard under the stairs. it's been a lovely few days.

when i was eleven and in the cupboard under the stairs, he made the dark seem a little less scary. but i guess some books are like that.

join me?

she was my baby.

and i would give you to have her back.

jumbalaya dreamin'.

i closed my eyes and

pretended that I

was in louisiana,

closed my eyes and

breathed in sticky air

humid and hot

weighty with hope, and

thought of new orleans,

turn of the century

closed my eyes, and

listened to that hum,

pretended that creole boy

was singing just for me. 

eighteen

looks just like this.

he told her

that a mother will give up on her daughter, but not her son.

this land.

this is my land.

i have no deeds, no certificates

no men in dark suits witnessed me 

sign my name to stiff sheets of paper,

weighed down with life's work.

but this is my land.

and i claim it.

i was not forced, beaten, chained

traded, enslaved, betrayed

pushed out and pulled at

until cheeks caved 

inward on themselves, until wills did,

giving up and turning grey.

but this is my land

and i claim it. 

this is not the land where my

father's fathers laid first foot

and my mother's sweat was spilled,

where my ancestors afterbirth was dropped

into soil,

but this is my land. 

and i claim it. 

because here, my head was raised

these stars, my eyes have gazed

as hey turned and changed

from infants baby blue to toddler's hazy grey,

to young woman's soft brown

i know these stars

i know this moon

i know this grass

i know these trees

and this is my land.