photo by Alex Lear
LONELY WOMAN
to be thot by the world as nonattractive
is so cruel a twist of birth
to be told yr weight is too much or not
enuf, yr face shape “ah… well, unique”
not to look like tv & cable
not to walk like magazines
not to smell like designed aromas
is so much
the way life really is
despite tons of pretty people
crisscrossing this century
beauty remains a rare thing, as rare as
infant eyes in an adult head
somewhere after high
school (& a prom nite that shouldda been my first
abortion) u wonder: is there any
one
in this whole wide
kaleidoscope who can truly, truly…
what i mean by “truly” is
be sincere in feeling, &
understand how that mustard spot spilt
on my blouse may be several days old
but i’m not a filthy person, yes
a bit uncaring abt neatness but you
could eat off the floor in my kitchen…
(that’s a joke…)
i don’t have any chairs in my kitchen
& sometimes when i come in late at night
i sit on the floor & eat chinese in the semi-dark
ha-ha, …
love excites me & loveless sex turns me off
is that confusing? like a lake
at high tide i totally open
myself to someone i love & if i don’t
i only want him to hurry up & be over
although i never kiss & never tell
them that–we all know
there is such a thing
as too much reality
but if i could find a man somewhat
like my cat, i could touch him & talk to him
tell all, focus on sanity
& share slices of apple & my dimpleless
smile, the strange odor of my hair when its
wet by the silver rain i’ve walked into
to forget the dryness of days
at work they train me in congeniality
show me how to smile at strangers
with money in their hands
my mother told me never to do that
if you saw my chronology
you would look at my finger
nails and shake your head
the bitten edges confirmation
that loneliness is
a compulsive eating disorder &
what i do with my hands
a blues connotation
did i mention i’m black?
well dark brown really (smile…)
& female once a menses,
i’m ramblin’ aren’t i?
on a job application
for a position i never got
i once put down “ornette coleman”
as kin to notify because of that song
he made: “lonely woman”
i’m sure he stole those sound-tears
from someone he had hurt, made cry–
cause
no man
has ever
really felt
like that
—kalamu ya salaam