between pieces of me and pieces of earth
i found a sliver of land to call my own
the blue-toned-tarnished hope of yesterday’s decades-past
sat rusted skirt pulled up over the ashy knees screaming for vaseline
and blowing unrestrained in the wind
’cause ain’t no body looking here
the brown in the rust bringing out all the colors
like a Matisse or Monet or van Gogh painting
every almost dead thing resurrecting itself in living color
she ain’t go no more worries here
she got time to reminisce ’bout good or almost good things
ain’t no sorrow or ghosts of hateful times pulling at her heart strings
and all that hair she lost is growing back
hey! she yells, remembering me from before
hey! you staying or just passing through?
i show her my deed
she say, you own the Brooklyn Bridge too?
’cause you can’t own this land
i can and i will, i say
’cause i ain’t being evicted from nowhere no more
i take my shoes off and squish my toes into the sandy dirt
lift and spread these thighs upon a Plymouth rock
skirt waving in the breeze
me, taking in a long drag of air filling my lungs to capacity
me, crying over spilled milk, dead babies
and splinters so deep only a surgeon can remove them
me leaning in, fully aware of having a space to finally grieve
– a space to let go and let be
– a space where splinters expel their own selves
Hey, she say, what took you so long?
