Confession

© 2010 Sandra Jean-Pierre

I feel like anything I write at this moment will be a confession
and I am not one to be confessing too much lately,
since I've not much to confess

but that I want to love you

like the stars
melding into the space that surrounds them,
to where there is no distinction between
the essence
of star-life and darkness

I want to consume you

the way poured molten glass
kisses room temperature water
with a sizzle - I will
evaporate my way into your skin
so that the only way out
is when you cum for me

letting lose your inhibitions
like the rivers flowing through the Serengeti

I want to show you

that the trail between your breasts
has more secrets
than the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs,
that your sweet love moanings
can be the basis of one hundred
seraphim song riffs

and that if we're patient -
oh sweet, profound, patience -
we might just find
the reason that
two women are able
to know the face of God
and have it make sense

since
blessed unions,
are only "supposed" to happen
between women and men...

but
admitting these things
would constitute a confession
and I'm not one for confessing
anything...

except how much the thought of
touching you (?)
keeps running through my mind
as each time the rocking gets sweeter and sweeter
and you giving up that surrenderer's sigh
in my ear
is exactly what I need to hear

because Our loving?
is enough to make
grown women cry,
enough to make devout clergy genuflect
asking God why
Us and not them?

and my answer?
You'd have to be a woman, loving this woman
to understand...

In Loving Memory

She

She with her fall scented skin

And hope filled eyes

She who loved like

Love like time

Loved like I

Loved like love before the lies

Wrapped in weather worn righteousness

And spider webbed pride

I loved how her kisses

Came with a little wisdom on the side

I should have thanked her sooner,

But instead, I let time fly

Now I watch tired bones

Trying to hold up a spirit too stubborn to die

I should have hugged you more

Loved you more

I should have tried to see your side

Instead of trying to win this victorless war

I’m.

So.

Sorry.

Sorry that even in the little time left that we have

I still can’t seem to cross over the abyss of silence

Terrified of the day I can’t see you in my reflection

Yet still can’t say ‘I love you’ without a little hesitation

You

Withered womb warrior woman, you

I can’t believe I ever thought you unworthy

Just know that if I ever hold any power over our destinies

I’ll find some way to make you let go of prodigal dreams

The way I plan to hold on to your memory

Because you raised me better than this

A black woman to feed my spirit

I want a woman to feed my spirit
A black woman to feed my spirit
Black inside and out

When I see her
I want to see charcoal fire ashes
Houses burnt down
Machetes
Revolution

When I lay my hand on her
I want to feel the raggedy
Roughness of the mountains
The rocks hurting my naked feet
Scars on her tummy
Bumps on her breast

When she menstruates
I want to see the blood going down her legs
River latibonit river
Fraying her way to populated lands
Carrying down the sand

When I touch her wetness
I want to feel the scream
Of all the women fighters before me
Marie Jeanne, Claire Heureuse, Catherine, Désirée

When we finally come
Together
When we finally come
Together
“Map antre o nan lakou a
Mape mande si nan pwen granmoun o nan lakou a
Map antre o nan lakou a
Mape mande si nan pwen granmoun o nan lakou a
Bonjou manman m
Ponjou pitit mwe
Bonjou manman m
Bonjou pitit mwen adye
Map antre o nan lakou a
Mape mande si nan pwen granmoun o nan lakou a





Amazon of the water
10/09/05

Untitled.

I missed you
A rainbow reverie
A promise, a probability
A fantasy song playing in my head
I toyed with the idea of you in my mind
Hiding from mountains and roads
Seeking nearness
Then you came
Busted open
Popped the screw
And invaded my space
You burned me more than fire
I couldn’t sleep
My heart was racing
My genie got out of the bottle
How did that happen?
Really.
Please, would you? I beg.
Not now.
The emerald glass bottle is safer than my ribcage
Less commotion
My heart is old already. Tired and old.
Would you? Please? …go back?