So many people
that I
did not love
that I
probably should have been with
For safety purposes
for security
only
unhappy, but settled
unfulfilled, but the fence is picket
un-enamored, but the children have the college fund
His over-appreciation just has you feeling
unappreciative
His words and the way he uses them when he speaks of you, to all of them
His falling to his knees at your every beck and call
Looks so damn good on the outside
inside, outside
inside
bored inside
falling apart
inside
the house of American Dreams
and all the American Weddings they ask us to host
hoping some semblance of perfection might rub off
And I wonder,
do they want the facade, too?
The long, dreadful drives home?
The dinner parties with great food
and fake smiles?
The sleepless nights
only to wake
after that single hour of rest
and find the same stranger in your bed?
And then you startle from sleep
realizing the chaos that is life, is yours
No one to wonder
if you’ll ever be in love
with
Just the one
you are dangerously in love
with
Is this you?
Rolling over into your second sleep,
with ease
The sudden or violent start of something
unwelcome
such as war, disease
disease
disease,
etc.
Said Oxford
as if Oxford was the name of a person
not an Ox
“Can animals get it too?”
she asks
“The virus?”
“Is it everywhere?”
Is it everywhere?
It is everywhere and
it is here
Sing Happy Birthday to wash your hands and
don’ttouchyourface and
don’ttouchyournose and
don’ttouchyoureyes and
don’ttouchyourmouth and
cover it with your shirt
But
“Mama it’s weird, they’re going to look at me funny”
though “funny” has become the norm
gloves, not the ones to stay warm
masks must be worn
Three can’t be company
if ten is the new crowd
cancel the party, the birthday too
graduation and prom
gatherings, concert with all the songs
for your safety, all of ours
Coughing be a crime
you cough, you do time
in the house
stay away from your spouse
and the children
Tell the story of the child
who ate from the mother
who got it from the father
yes, they all died
orphaned two sons
TB was the one
but it is no different
yet different
but all the same
Was I not
born to find the love that we dream up?
Was I not born out of love
and cherry red kisses?
Strawberry laced sweet nothings
that tickle your ear
and bring lobe to meet shoulder?
Was I not in the line
when God was handing out companionship?
Did I miss that call?
Outstretched arms still too short to box?
Or hers not long enough to save
me?
I’m asking for a friend
Am I not
there enough when you call?
Agree with you even when you are wrong
enough?
Go out with you enough
drink with you enough
smoke you up even though I don’t smoke
enough?
Am I not your savior each time you drown?
Pulling you from the depth,
the dense?
Breathing life back into you by the lip
tongue
voice?
Am I not deserving of your loyalty?
Your understanding when I need to breathe
air
space?
Will I not
be your equal,
or more, as I am deserved?
Will my office not be the same size as yours?
Will it take me twice as long to reach the corner?
Will I not own my body
and all that become of it?
Be seen as strong enough,
intimidating enough
to fight you off should you try to steal?
Will I not be born with the right
to learn and earn
on every land?
Will I not ever lead this country
as I should?
For my point of view is grounded in human
and love is all we need?
Asking for a friend
Can I not
bear a soul
that is a child that is a baby that is a seed?
Watering and tending
feeding clipping ensuring the steady growth of?
Can I not be the vessel
of the next great
everything?
The chosen one, the guide,
the voice of reason behind the machine?
Can I not be
the
mama you know I love you?
the
mama you’re the queen of my heart?
the
you’re the driving force in my life?
the
ain’t a woman alive that could take my mama place?
the
always was a black queen, mama?
the
you are appreciated?
Won’t I ever
be content?
Find joy each spring as the flowers wake,
comfort in the falling of the snow,
the bending trees beneath them?
Won’t I ever make a home
with a garden to plant the food
and the pretties?
A veranda to sit
read the paper knit the socks hymn the songs
sip the limeade,
not the tea of passersby?
Won’t I ever be a home
runneth over with peace
and calm
sensitivity
care
honor
wisdom
fulfillment?
This guy
he ran to me, calling out
as if script
scribe
scrib
was written on the left side of my chest.
The driver
he watched as I emptied limbs
from white coat
asked
“Did anybody die today?”
“Yes,” I say
They’re all going to die.
If not today, another
if not from diagnosis, let it be from the other side of the pill.
Quell one ill, in exchange for
upset stomach
diarrhea
slurred speech
hallucinations
memory loss
suicidal thoughts
priapism
muscle tremors
swelling of the lips, face or tongue
blood clots
anal bleeding
stroke
liver failure
may cause sudden d e a t h.
Chronic dis-ease for the chronic stream of constant fund.
Control, no cure
kickbacks to kick back.
Mafia ties
pockets lined
with mulberry silk
galore.
Big business
big bank
big car
big mortgage
big life
big death
This guy
I’m sure he saw it
he looked at us
back at the building, frantically
then watched as we disappeared into the yellow.
The driver
his head turned 180 degrees
when he heard her scream.
Blood on her hands
fright on his face
the courage slowly leaving our bodies.
She got off her shift late
so we started the bar hop without her
promised to pick her up on our second stop.
We got to the door, heard the noise
pushed it open, she was on the floor.
I jumped into the space between her and his fists
Vicky picked her up
Paula picked up shoes that were caught by his face.
She ran to the closet
pulled down a box.
I swear I didn’t see anything
only heard a shot.
She wiped blood from her nose
her mouth
ears.
Stood in victory
as the years of abuse, disappeared.
She grabbed her purse, she ran,
we followed
out to the waiting car.
“Where’d you get a gun?”
yelled cabbie.
We looked at each other,
then down at the gun
as she fumbled around in realization.
In fear it would release
cabbie reached over,
grabbed the gun and pulled off.
This guy he wasn’t annoyed at my jumping into the car before him, for he couldn’t take my place tears, streaming long, from face.
The driver said he’d seen a me, many times over. That I mustn’t be so lost, over things that were never mine to keep. If they were, they’d be with me. And although we make these choices, the outcome was never by these hands. Said the evils of the world, belong the things that hurt, were not always wrong. Balance he repeats.
The phone rings heart skips a few beats. Death by threes, says caller – mom, uncle, son. Cabbie turns to say, “Love, no cry, what’s done, is done.”
People before they knew hunger before limbs, tiny fingers, touch Aunty’s nose before they mistook danger for mere adventure. Fore granted the gift of life’s toll.
All these blue bodies.
And I wondered how many souls cabbie forced into the ground. How many moons many suns many nights he’d lost to let his conscience drown.
This guy
he waived to me as we pulled off.
Lights that stay red for far too long,
forging collision between the now
and the daze.
The driver
he shifted view every 7 seconds.
Mouth dripping with accent of tongue
watching, as though eyes gave the Amen
lips refused.
Cabbie continued
but I knew not of the God he spoke.
He who advised his turning from path.
Two rights, then left
on to road of wrongs.
Just before I made a dash
from the slowed, moving car
he stopped
let a woman in
let her kiss him
nose, then chin.
And I wondered how long each day
his wife back home
waited by the phone.
Foreign countries
foreign women
foreign lives
foreign lies.
There was a mark on the smallest pillow of the set. But if honesty is required, call a stain, a stain. I decided it was from a late night rendezvous with Oreo Ice Cream. The vanilla of it all would drip as you prioritized the chocolate crunch. Maybe a little toothpaste drizzle from early-morning, bed-making brushing.
It was a neat home and my mind began to wonder if there were stains in other places. I followed you to the patio and the first thing I noticed; a smear on top of the table. But since it’s best to tell the truth, call a stain, a stain. You told me it was left there by a member of your family, as if I’d asked. Did this mean you were the explaining type that got ahead of things in attempts to avoid the shame of truth?
We journeyed back indoors on the heels of talk about blood and building. Finding and timing. I put my morning dish in the sink and saw that there were spots in there, too. Though, if we’re laying everything out on the table, being up front and all, call a stain, a stain. I imagined there were stains everywhere: on toilets and towels, sofas and chairs. Most of all, undergarments. I assigned a number and space in my mind to each of the stains I shalt not forget.
At this point, I couldn’t help but wipe all the stains from all the dishes in the sink. I put them on the counter for air, and smiled.
I should be sitting across from him, at dinner, for the very first time. Legs crossed beneath the table, like a lady. Manicured nails, palm cuffed beneath the chin. Right hand. Four carat Diamond ring. Left. A restless sigh, blows the hair from my eye. I sit up straight, fingers tapping, I wait. Lipstick stains on the twice filled glass. Flutes remain print-less, as if we had that syndrome that would make us untraceable in the case we committed a horrific crime.
Through squinted eyes I peer over the shoulder of the pesky waitress as she asks for the third time if I need a drink. This time, I should say, “Yes, a Bob Marley, please,” as a tyro rendition of “No Woman No Cry” drowns my thoughts. Instead, my attention shifts and I spot an older couple; maybe in their seventies. He, once a restless scientist toiling to find the cure. She, a district attorney wishing she’d worked a little less. Just enough to raise the little angel child that crossed her mind every now and again. Now, she was left to nurture the companion of failing health she met at thirteen. Once a man, twice a child. Nevertheless, they had love. Love that withheld through lonely dinners, missed birthdays, long research sabbaticals, grueling court cases, and chemo. At the end of the journey, they still had each other, I imagined. I wondered if we would.
The sound of thunder brought me out of my daze, nearly spilling my glass of Perrier. I acknowledged my foot which seemed to be rapidly tapping on its own, felt a familiar impatient tingle, and squeezed my thighs tighter. As rain broke through a sky of gray clouds, I shook my head and watched it hit the pavement. Picturing him bouncing out of a giant drop, I gazed through prestige windows that made me feel just as small as I did when I first moved to this city. His city. His streets. His bright lights. His big apple. His favorite restaurant. His birthday. His ass is an hour and a half late. He loved his work and I’ve always appreciated music as the heartbeat of life, but I never imagined it taking away the love of mine.
My napkin fell as I got up to rush to the restroom. A bladder infection on top of a ravenous stomach wasn’t going to help any. After relieving myself, I stared at my round face, almond eyes, and pouty-when-distraught lips. If I wore foundation, I would have piled it on. If I wore blush, I would have painted merry cheeks. Charcoal eye liner and deep cherry lipstick only highlighted my mood.
Walking back I notice the elderly couple had vanished. That quick? As if they were never there. Through blurred vision I spot a man standing at my table, running his forefinger around the rim of his glass. Excuse me, I thought. What the hell? As I got closer to the table, a lump filled my throat and my steps became weak. Fear and hesitation suddenly consumed me. I’ve never liked long black trench coats. Men in black with their emotionless stares. I approached him, ready, so I thought. Was it someone from the industry? When our eyes met and his shifted, I knew it was the end.
It only took a few seconds to lose control. My hands shook, my feet quivered, lips trembled and tears fell. Memories flushed my mind. Just Married scripted on the back of the Maybach because he only rode in style. Black sand between toes on Waianapanapa Beach. Nights of coition on feather beds beneath the stars. Long talks about what each of our seven children would grow up to be. Whose lips and eyes our grandchildren would have.
In that moment, I realized I’d never sit across from him. Never wonder how life would’ve been if we made every dinner date. Arrived on time to every birthday party. Worked less. Took more vacations together. No children. No chemo.
I pulled my sweater up above & over his head. “What are you doing?”
he asked. “I’ve captured you.”
I whispered.
I felt him in the dark.
His eyes traced mine,
nose
lips
chin.
Fingers ran along the pronunciation of my collarbone
eyeballs glazed over the familiar beauty mark
placed gently in my sternal notch.
A swift lick of the lips
met the eager mind
somewhere between the eyes.
He gawked at my breasts “What are you doing?”
I said. “Touch them.” “They were made for you.”
Melissa O. Fuller 