Warm evenings -

a slight breeze with the scent of smoked ham

and cornbread for dinner.

BROWN BODIES come out when the streetlights do

FOR FEAR OF BEING SEEN,

dancing and singing to Motown.

Turning bodies into wine

Perhaps the first

Was the open sky

Infecting above the carpeted ground.

Books astray in an old wicker basket,

Just enough room for a girl to climb in.

Crayons drawing, thoughts wild; just

imagine at your fingertips

The World.

My ma says

She pushed my stroller

around the bumpy streets of

Queens, Jamaica, Long Island,

even Manhattan,

Through rain and snow, all

alone.

Finding no help from the

passengers, all ignoring her

silent plea

It’s a long way home,

miles of pavement and sky.

As we drive,

the sun chases us,

and the clock turns.

Radio changes,

melodies blur together,

making one endless song,

duets and duets of notes.