Kim D. Brandon
Evidence Of Love
granddaddy made all us little kids go on treasure hunts
I always thought Cousin Libby, Cornell and I hated these games
there would be no prizes or sweet treats at the end
yesterday we had to take Polaroids
of any evidence of love found in his house
Cornell didn't find anything photo worthy
I took a picture of Granny’s hummingbird cake
with pineapple and walnuts pieces on top
cousin Libby took ten shots
she wasted a whole package of film
on a giant old timey chifforobe
that granddaddy’s daddy built
the thing took over half the living room
Libby opened the doors and the drawers
she clicked pictures of what she called detailed hand cravings
then she said
look how well the wood has been hand polished
for our time by our kind
she says
one day I want to be big enough that they let me polish it to a spit shine
have my hands rub over where my mama and daddy hands use to be
then that crazy cousin Libby
went over to granddaddy
she says
Gramps, please stick out your hands
she took a picture of them too
maybe she only liked old things
she didn’t ask Cornell or me to stick out our hands
The Rent Is Late
And we were fighting again this morning
He bounced his favorite line
Off the bedroom walls
Like the chorus of a swan song
I never asked you for nothing - he shouts
And this is when I usually bark
You ask not because you have not
Our voices getting louder and louder
One half veiled insult after another
But in the middle of the quarrel, something popped
I had a change of mind.
My heart softened opened wide
And I uttered
You’ve asked me to make a home for you in my spirit
You asked me to bathe you in my comforts
You have asked me to share my days
And to plant seeds that would bloom for us tomorrow and the day after that
You have requested me to love you up to here.
I put my hand to my waist the way my
Native American friend does
when you ask him how he is doing
He modestly says
I’ve come up to here
Meaning that he is not finished
He’s made progress
My lover, looked at me a very long time without saying one word
The rent was still going to be paid late
But I saw him standing there in the stillness
I saw good love
For the first time
No Matter What Happens, Don’t Move
My father gathered us together
his children
Then gathered up all the rusty dented
leftover cans of house paint
from the floor of the hall closet
He heard them first
before we saw them
the police were coming again
this time
their sirens raging war
breaking small fragments
of peace found
on the poverty line
Popping the lids off
like flipping pancakes
Them smelling like turpentine
and burnt offering
Him, pouring them over us
his children
heavy globs dripping
coating everything below
our crowns
and our new and hand-me-down clothes
He put his index finger to his lips to silence us
eyes pleading
be still my children
be still
The door pushed in
He was knocked down
punched
kicked
Guns were jammed into his face
He - handcuffed
and dragged away from us
The paint dried
We had not been seen
Had not been discovered
We are now the same baby blue from bathroom walls
canary yellow from the kitchen walls
soft butterscotch gold from the living room walls
Safe and invisible
for the time being
as long as we don't move
Printed in:
Winter In America (Again
Peregrine
Boundaries and Boarders
