The not so great reason to live in a rural area. A water duct underneath the narrow street burst this past weekend. Water was shut off in the middle of the afternoon, hot and humid. Luckily, we had had a morning-shower and a frig full of bottled water.
But then came a Bang-Bang-Bang! at our front door. A lady stood breathless and in panic. She wore terri-cloth light blue house shoes, the kind with the flimsy would-be rubber soles. Her arms flailed and beads of sweat had gathered above her top lip giving her a wet mustache. She didn’t have on a bra, so her D-sized breasts ran down her stomach underneath a yellow and red stripe tank and knee-length peddle pushers. She stomped and pleaded, “Water! Is yal’s water off too?” Highly unconcerned and accustomed, I said “yea.” She said, “Oh Gawd no! I got perm in my hair and it’s gon burn if I don’t take it out! Oh Gawd!” I wasn’t sure what to say. I asked if she could drive to a nearby relative’s house because I was sure the water was only shut off on our street. The panic grew stronger across her face. She looked over to a neighbor’s, then yelled at someone further on down the street, “Ey! Roscoe! Ey! Yal got water?!” He yelled back “Nawl!” “Damn! My hair gon fall out! This shit is startin to sting already!” She stomped then began shaking her hands (sort of like when you miss the nail and hit your finger--reflex). She dashed off the lawn past the gate, never looking back at me. I followed with a “sor-ry.” She didn’t respond. I closed the door. Just then Gera came from the kitchen with a big bottle of cold Aquafina. “Que paso?”
It's May 2012 and nothing has changed since November.11. I am all smiles at my relationship and myself. My honey and I continue to amaze each other on a daily basis. We're still ever so 'in' with each other. I completed my MA in literature last May and I'm teaching four college English courses to really smart students. I am hopeful to enter a doctorate program soon. This way, I can run out.All is scary good.
upon hearing your voice life again expands like moon crest like pomegranates swell to the sun and you are patient because god calls
when he came for you this morning you were bent into the flower bed singing black hymns so he left you alone until this third afternoon but even then he found you elbow deep in jewel weed with a mouthful of figs from a nearby tree again he waited because each time seemed to him an inconvenience and a wrong moment
and it was your persistent humming that drove him up and back until he could get his timing perfect he waited another day or so until
your gardening tools rest into porch corners your paring knife shines deeply into a drawer your hair comb lies slanted in a shoebox your wedding band hides in the mattress your fishing rod stays stolen
the sound of your voice desires to sing or hum but this time is perfect he has covered you like lavender-colored silence but he has also added streaks of olive green and pink because this is what the other soul-folk has told him to do and he has become tired in the process and therefore begins to rush sonances of your body he finds you the least complex when you are not outdoors digging in that garden, humming hymns and thriving and for a moment he questions his own timing its perfection and everything goes accordingly until he finds you have buried fruit peels and wandering jew petals underneath your back this does not anger him but it tilts his agility to deliver you and in his own questioning and presence of smells that he cannot privilege all this over powers his choice all this reels his otherwise perfection into letting you go
when i see you sitting in the plush squares of limitless St. Augustine your eyes are lit like crystal warmed soil releases from each of your hands
how did i get to this point this point of knowing you for you are nearly a century old