|graffiti'd street sign|
i watch her cross the parking lot
only a bit older from when i knew her,
the way she preened for boys,
always looking for her daddy, mama's
beauty queen & promise to be
more than the less than of their present
has it really been five years?
she's probably graduating high school this year,
a senior or junior--i remember
how her mother called it cute as she flounced,
draping boys like a table cloth, just waiting
for a drip to slip the lip & stain---
passing within twenty feet, they don't see me
their eyes measuring each step, hand
upon the roundness of her belly, more watermelon
than the girl i once knew, full with seed
summer days, as kids, my cousins & i'd see
who spit them the furthest, pink flesh so cold
our teeth would hurt---laugh
as juice ran down our chins---wonder
if any would take & dream of watermelon
vines sur-rounding our houses
her mother opens the clinic door, they disappear-
ing inside, boys now as absent as a ring
on her finger, at work, i hope, trading hours
for responsibility / currency
---we spit like seed, without a care,
wondering where all the watermelons came from,
vines blocking sun from both our Houses
Today at dVerse Poets, Victoria has us focusing on allegory for Meeting the Bar. Doors open at 3 pm DST.
The story is true, but I tried to use it to represent something more. She is a girl from a youth group I ran a few years ago. Last time we were in Maryland, I watched her and her mother heading into the clinic. Have tried to write about it a few times but it never really worked. Underneath it all is a political poem, veiled a bit.
It is part of my his-story as well, so slinging it into Poetry Jam, as well.