A mistake, a stumble of the mind
Like when the wrong word comes
From the lips, or a face looks
For a moment familiar but then,
Up close it’s clearly strange.
In a way I resent him,
Sweeping across the desert of my life
With his cooling waters
Letting the blazing whiteness of his
Sails fill the horizon as my arms grow
Weary of the tide. Damien looks at
Me as if he is thirsty
And I want to be a river
He looks at me as if he is hungry
And I want to leap upon his tongue.
He makes me want to write
His name across the lines
On my yellow pad. I write
“Damien loves…” and leave
A space for another name.
JUNICE and MELISSA
Hey girl
You were in bed
And we did have a talk
Or don’t you remember little
Sweetheart?
I know
We talked and all
But can’t I take a peek
He ain’t made of gold or nothing Is he?
No, but
He is special
He does the kind of things
That I wish that he were doing
With me
Junice
That boy has got
All up inside your head
You’re going to be in luv tonight
Big-time
Away!
Back to your bed
You’re talking like a child
It’s Junice I have to handle
Not him
DAMIEN
Junice moves uneasily through the room
Her stops punctuated by a soft smile
That sends shivers of delight up my spine
My smile doesn’t fit my face anymore
Clumsily I try to hold the space
She gives me between the yellowed curtains
And the darkly stained table where my legs
Cross and uncross searching out casual
The smell of food cooking in some other
Kitchen reminds me that we share the world
Junice moves uneasily through the room
I speak, and her quick mind catches the thought
And tosses it playfully at my feet
I am eager to laugh and she knows it
I talk nonsense and she nods, I babble
And she babbles back. I am excited
Yes, and afraid to be in her presence
In the faraway next room there are sounds
“Melissa’s watching some kiddie program,”
Junice says. “I bribed her to waste her mind.”
We are dancers, she with bare feet
And dangling bracelets, the native child
Burned by the copper sun
I am the explorer
Discovering that there are two
Sides to the ocean
“Damien, what are you thinking?” she asked.
“I am thinking that I am not thinking.
What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking that I am thinking too much,”
she said.
“Is that good or bad?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, freezing the thought
I stood and put my arms around her
She put her head against my chest
In the long moment that followed
It was impossible to breathe
Too difficult to speak
We were rapt in each other
For a handful of heartbeats
Until, embarrassed, she pushed me away
We had shared more
Than we knew possible
Then I was standing, jacket in hand, at the door
Awkwardly we faced and wondered if Could
Would turn to Yes, her fingertips kissed
My face. My lips barely parted and quickly
Closed.
Down the stairs, and into the cool night
A half-moon floated
High above the jutting chimneys
Perhaps there were two moons
Perhaps a dozen
JUNICE at BEDFORD HILLS to see her MOTHER
What will I say to her? Hello, Mother?
Where will I put my eyes when they don’t smile?
Will I say that Melissa cries for her
In the darkness? That she calls her name
As the night creeps into the cold gray day?
What will I say to her? Hello, Mother?
The package I left at the desk—panties
The bra she wanted, tampons in a box
A card from Miss Ruby—is not enough
To bridge the distance between
Us. If sorrow were a shawl
We could share it against the cold
What will I say to her? Hello, Mother?
Will I be able to touch her, to kiss
Her cheek and tell her amusing stories?
The guards search me, tossing my confidence
Into the brown plastic bag with my keys
Reminding me that I am Black
That I am lesser.
Shuffling
Through the gates with the others
Flinching
As the doors slam behind me
I think of Damien, glad he’s not here
Letting my thoughts anchor to him
What would he think?
Wide-eyed, his mind bouncing
Madly from green-gray wall
To green-gray wall
“Hello, Mama,” I force the words out.
“How are you?”
She tries to smile, but can’t
Her mouth opens and I know she has
Practiced what to say but she can’t control
The torrent of words that gush forth
I’m fine, and you? Have you spoken to a lawyer?
What are you doing out there? What are you doing?
Don’t you care about me? I’m your mother!
Did you bring any money? Commissary
Costs money. Don’t you know that? Don’t
you know?
I can’t stand this place. Get me out of here!
She is a wolf caught in a trap,
Gnawing at the foot that holds her
She growls at me and yelps in pain
Her eyes bleed tears
And yes, she is my mother
And YES, she is my mother!
You can’t turn your back on me. Don’t you know
I spent nine months with you and…
I need a good lawyer for my appeal
Don’t you know this place is crazy, listen
To what they’re saying. Talking about home
As if they are ever going. What are…?
Head down, I admit to doing nothing.
The blizzard of her hurts falls heavily
And I am beaten. Sensing the welling tears
She stops to breathe. Her tone softens
Are you doing well in school? Having fun?
Does Melissa do her homework at night?
“There is a boy,” I say. “His name is Damien
Just the thought of him cheers me
Gives me power over the uncaring
Hardness of the hood, over the secret thoughts
That insist on having their way with me.”
Her eyes go wild
Her fingers clench
Her voice becomes a muted shriek
How can you do this? How can you leave me?
Oh, my God, you are a terrible thing!
You’re grinning with some fool while your mother
Your mother rots in this Godforsaken
Place forever and you don’t care forever and I
Hate him forever and I hate you what are you
Doing? They’re taking m
y life!
I want my life back. They didn’t tell me
They could take it. They could just take it!
The screaming goes on
Like nails scratching across my heart
A heavy woman complains that she
Cannot hear her brother
And she needs the news because she’s going
To be in the World soon and then a guard
Round faced, bored, lumbers over and hits
His baton on the table between us
The hour has ended and I am drained
“There are bruises in your life,” Damien said
I long for him.
On the bus headed southward
My tears somehow signal a tattooed man
To sit with me. When his hand finds my leg
I know I have found my passage to Hell
Wearily I push the hand away
And try to sleep
JUNICE and MELISSA at HOME
Melissa peers
Deeply into my eyes
Looking for clues that everything’s
All right
All right
She spoke of you
Something about homework
I told her you were doing well
She smiled
She smiled
Then read your note
And put it to her chest
Then she read it aloud again
I lie
KEVIN and DAMIEN in KEVIN’S HOUSE
Yo, Damien, are you okay? Your eyes
Have a distant glaze and you’ve been
Walking in a daze for days. Tell me
What’s up? What’s going down?
Is something going around that I
Need to know about?
Kevin, my main rooter
Mighty square shooter
My head is spinning
For no apparent reason
Hey, man, it’s flu season
Asian, Avian, Three Day, too
You need some serious chill out
Get the heating pad and pills out
Some hot tea and TLC
Should make the sadness flee.
And if all that
Don’t juice your feelin’
You better cop some penicillin!
No, little brother,
There’s no bacteria
In the area, it’s Love
That lifts and gifts
This mortal
Damien, excuse me if you will
Abuse me if you must
But take me into your trust
And tell me that this plan
Does include the fair Roxanne?
Roxanne, do I know her?
Do you know her?
If you don’t know the child
Your mother has chosen
Tell me just what has frozen
Your logic?
Maybe I’m completely wrong
Your new love is vehicular
Or something strictly testicular
Or you’ve downloaded some song That has turned your brain
To mush
Junice, Kevin, Junice
I have found her
And she has found me
Old friend, cut buddy, my splib on the rib,
Have you taken Junice to your mama’s crib?
And do you have exact words
Passed down from above
Just how do you know that you’re in love?
Yesterday a woman smiled at me
No, she smiled at my own mad smiling
As I walked and spoke to myself
Spoke and answered as if I were surprised
At what I was saying, at what I was feeling
And what I was feeling was the wonder
Of being more than me, of being more
Than mere here and now allowed
I had become a shining star, a burning nova
Exploded with love
Flying through an endlessly
Expanding universe
Away from the me that was
Toward a me that is beyond
Understanding.
Yo, you’re right, my man
I don’t understand it either
But it’s definitely heavy
JUNICE thinks of calling DAMIEN
Hello, Damien, yes this is Junice
I’m calling because this many-cornered
Room is pressing in on me so hard
That I feel I will be crushed. Yes, something
Happened today. I received a notice
From the Department of Health Services
Saying that for the greater good of all
Concerned they would have to assume complete—
Damien, I can’t say the words. Even
Though I have practiced them, have let their taste
Fill my mouth with their acid apathy
What can you do? I don’t know. Can you fly?
Change yourself into the wonder of all
Things? Blaze truth to the world? Can you become
A wild beast that chases demons away?
A flowing stream that carries poor meek girls
To comfort? Are these things that you can do?
Have I been crying? No, but I have screamed
Sorrow to the wind and rained misery
To the pavement beneath my window
I don’t know if that’s the same as crying
Damien, I am searching for myself
In the flickering shadows of despair
I have become invisible, there’s just
The sound of my voice echoing against
The empty streets where once I pretended
To be. I am loose in space, and falling.
And the Waiters wait for me, mouths open
Remembering the taste of the others
Miss Ruby, Leslie, mothers and daughters
I see myself on the report, sixteen-
Year-old girl without parental guidance
Or resources. I am on the menu.
What will I do? Grab the thin summer air
And hold it before my chest like a shield
Run down the busy streets, shouting havoc?
Fly with Melissa to the river’s edge
And dare the tide to carry us away?
I am like a rat, scurrying across
The rooftops, my mind scritching and scratching
In its panic, my limbs digging fiercely
Into the red brick of the tenements
I am Street and I do not go easy
I am Street and I will not flinch from pain
I am Street! My mind and my soul are Street.
But my heart, this poor timid thing that beats
Behind these small breasts, betrays its owner
Telling her fingers to call Damien
Damien, are you there? Can you become?
Damien, are you there? Can you become
The hope I need? Can you help me be
More than it is written in my future
Or past? Is there another me to find?
JUNICE calls DAMIEN
Hello? How are you?
I saw my mother today.
She’s all right, I guess.
She’s down. It’s to be
Expected.
Me? I’m all right.
You were thinking of me?
No, I’m not down. It’s
Just a cold. Yes, and a
Headache. I’ll wrap myself
Warmly, and think of you.
Good night, darling.
DAMIEN in his ROOM, his MATH HOMEWORK on his DESK
The phone is quiet in my hand
I imagine her brown cheek against
The white pillow. Her voice still echoes
In my head. I have never heard a voice
Like hers before, had never heard
The sound of a life scraped
Raw and left to shake and bleed
In the wind.
&
nbsp; And if I have never heard that sound
That cry filtering through the storm
Where have I been? What music drowns
The cry? And yet…and yet…
As I sit in my room,
Wondering how to be heroic
Rummaging through my life
For a proper script
I am afraid. Afraid for all the
Things I should have said
Of all the words I sensed and
Refused to hear as her voice
Reached out to me.
In the ticktock
Quiet of my room, there is the
Low burrrrrr of a crumbling shield.
Junice talks of Street.
Is Street the same as Hero?
Is Hero the same as Man? Is Man
The same as Damien?
JUNICE at the FAMILY COURT OFFICES
“No, I don’t mean to be hostile
Ma’am.
It’s just that I’m afraid that no matter How loudly I speak
You won’t be able to hear me
You say I can have no hand in
The decision. But look at these hands
They have scrubbed mats on the banks of the Congo
They lifted Moses from the bulrushes
These hands can crush razor blades
And catch sunbeams
They part rocks and turn back rivers
Does that make sense to you?
You say that your hands are tied
Can I beg them free?
You quote paragraphs and sentences
And laws with numbers and subsections
Will my tears erase them?
You say my family has a History
And wash your hands
As I am crucified to it
You are a woman, and I am a woman
Yes, it is relevant
You are Black and I am Black
Yes, it is relevant!
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream
I know it won’t help my case
Miss Davis, ma’am, all I’m asking
Is for the chance to be stronger
Than the women in my family have been
My grandmother, once fierce,
Street Love Page 4
