Sadness Is Not Fair

 

 

i eat the air

 

and the cling of your

vagina after my climax

 

and an after the rain drive

across the dripping mountains above

port-of-spain and a sunday walk

through morning waves’ wash on tobago beach

 

and the sound of coltrane and i eat

milton nascimento, the quiver of his voice,

the suppleness of it, sinewyly climbing into a

realm of distinct sadness brasil calls saudade,

moaning unspeakably beautiful melodies, this

man was born to seductively shoulder the endurance

of pain like the ache in billie’s tortured

knowing, knowing there is always, no matter

the sweetness, always a tasteless after-love

that will unflinchingly flay happiness’ thin

fragileness, a fragileness that can seldom

wholly survive reality’s roughness

 

i drink disjointed memories

i walk down the sidewalk with an armful

of written words, humming aloud trane’s “peace

on earth,” my hard won serenity

at that moment simple as the dull

purple luster of a ripe plum about to be bitten

into or whatever else one finds delicious,

admiring the stylish way we wear troubles

one would think our anguish was a tailored shirt

instead of just a disappointing moment

we turn into music

 

i do not understand portuguese

i do not understand why i am

thinking these thoughts

sadness is so unfair

 

—kalamu ya salaam