I miss sticky summer days where you bathed under the fire hydrant
protected your tresses with a Jheri Curl bag
and motorists got a car wash, whether they liked it or not.
After putting on a fresh pair of Under Roos and braiding my hair
I carefully doused myself with baby powder
(taking care to get it on the neck, and decolletage in plain sight)
I miss it.
I miss Billy Ray. Zig. The Maxie Boys. Tral and all of the friendly trouble makers
that protected our block. They were black knights, and if they were around, we were
free to send sail boats down the moat and live like little princesses.
I miss watching my big brother play basketball.
He was an Olympic giant, a shining Adonis unafraid. Correction, He is.
I miss the poison CPS called food. Piping hot donuts, nothing but sugar and dough
accompanied by a quart of vitamin D milk.
You hated "choke" sandwhiches, but I didn't.
You hated the peas and carrots, but I loved them
because I wanted to grow big and strong.
I miss having the pretty teachers smile at me.
And yes Mrs. Johnson, I have committed Desiderata to memory and will
happily recite it at Graduation.
I miss that.
I miss vacation Bible camp
My awe of Jesus came second to
sepia toned women smelling of tuberoses
skin dewy from Fashion Fair.
The underwire bras from Sears held their power
the same power I would shy away from, one summer later.
I miss coloring outside the lines and
the velcro sound from my new Trapper Keeper.
I miss those stickers that brightened my day
when you were too angry to care. Too angry a tutor-
Desperate to be an apt pupil
I compromised my own republic because you were
a down trodden teacher over whelmed by 32 little black faces
with below average Iowa Test Score.
Yet, school was my sanctuary.
Thanks to science fairs, cheerleading, and oratory contests.
The Egyptian shop keep, who adored my mother
adored me with penny candy.
I miss you Derrion Albert.
I miss putting googlobs of Pro Style Gel in my hair
Mood Lipstick, and pinching my cheeks. I could never be fair like the ones in the novels,
but I wanted to be your love. I wanted to haunt your dreams, like you've haunted mine.
I miss pork. Fuck, I miss pork.
The fat drippings in the skillet, every Sunday morning smelled like happiness
Twixt the hog, Walter Payton, and Herb Kent's dusty radio
I knew the world was mine.
But I gave up pork, because it was the 90s and it was a way to bond
with pseudo-intellectual college boys hellbent on getting my power any way they could.
Black power, Brown power, Greek power...my power.
I miss you.
My heart rejects you, but my olfactory cannot.
Even when I refuse to remember, I can still smell you.
I miss you.
I miss hoping that you would notice me
a bookish tom boy still day dreaming about unicorns, lolipops and flying dragons that blows bubbles.
You've been there since the beginning, changing forms, and shape shifting like a spirit.
I ran from your love
but my legs weren't nearly as fast and strong as yours.
When I close my eyes tightly I can see you
my wild horse.
An equus solid hoofed, bred to love.
Wild, untamed, and most likely to buck and kick.
But, I will not give up on you.
You will return. You will restore. You will rise.
And in this lifetime, I will once again run freely with you...
I am healing.
And waiting for my soul to return.
next blog: WATCH HOW THE CITY OF BIG SHOULDERS WILL TAKE BACK THE YEARS THE LOCUSTS HAVE EATEN.