Today Is Not the Day

I can’t just sit here

staring death in her face

blinking and asking for a new name

by which to greet her

I am not afraid to say

unembellished

I am dying

but I do not want to do it

looking the other way.

Today is not the day.

It could be

but it is not.

Today is today

in the early moving morning

sun shining down upon

the farmhouse in my belly

lighting the wellswept alleys

of the town growing in my liver

intricate vessels swelling with the gift

of Mother Mawu

or her mischievous daughter

AfreketeAfreketemy beloved

feel the sun of my days surround you

binding our pathways

we have water to carry

honey to harvest

bright seed to plant for the next fair

we will linger

exchanging sweet oil

along each other’s ashy legs

the evening light

a crest on your cheekbones.

By this rising

some piece of our labor

is already half-done

the taste of loving

doing a bit of work

having some fun

riding my wheels so close to the line

my eyelashes blaze.

Beth dangles her stethoscope over the rearview mirror

Jonathan fine-tunes his fix on Orion

working through another equation

youth taut as an arrow

stretched to their borders

the barb sinking in so far

it vanishes from the surface.

I dare not tremble for them

only pray laughter comes often enough

to soften the edge.

And GloriaGloria

whose difference I learn

with the love of a sisteryouyou

in my eyes bright appetitelight

playing along your muscle

as you swing.

This could be the day.

I could slip anchor and wander

to the end of the jetty

uncoil into the waters

a vessel of lightmoonglade

ride the freshets to sundown

and when I am gone

another stranger will find you

coiled on the warm sand

beached treasureand love you

for the different stories

your seas tell

and half-finished blossoms

growing out of my season

trail behind

with a comforting hum.

But today

is not the day.

Today.

[April 22, 1992]