today i am missing a woman
i never held but loved like
i love my skin. like
i love my freedom.
all poets pray
for profundity
in the face of new loss, familiar
legacy.
flyby words make
my fingerprints itch. flashes
of language ghost dance
on my swollen soft palette.
i want the words to stick here
and mean, to honor somehow;
want poetry to matter
like her beautiful life.
i manage this:
WORD ALTAR FOR ROSA PARKS
dearest rosa, your brown body--
known for not budging--
has given way
to spirit; perhaps a better world.
textbooks and articles
name you simple
seamstress turned
"quiet activist."
sister-spirit, you
sewed commotion. was
seated and skirted but
rebellion just the same.
you showed us grace
and shame
were never twins.
you demonstrated.
may we find comfort in that sweet/righteous/
intentional breath you panted deep
in a montgomery prison
decades ago. that same breath
lingers here, filling our young lungs
as we gasp for revolution.
your name (your movement--known for not budging--)
rings synonymous with fistless resistance.
sister-spirit,
perhaps in a better world, fighting
for peace
makes no sense?
you sat still and certainly
that takes a stronger person;
certainly you took a fiercer, more
memorable stance.
guide us now, newest ancestor,
to realize a love for ourselves
that won't always have to shove
to push for change.
Take Care of Each Other, Lenelle.