The following is my Southern Legitimacy Statement:
I just loved “Gone With the Wind.” For the longest time, I wanted to be Melanie. Now, I am inching towards Scarlett.
The Knowable
On quiet streets
Barely kissed by the sun,
A stranger’s sideway glance
Reads more into us
Than the overwhelming gaze of a friend.
Seen up close,
All we are is our surface,
Void of the secrets
We confide to our morning walk.
The Washerman’s Son
A white square.
A diary without its covers.
He caressed it in his dark hands.
So much love.
“Give it to me,” I said,
“Or I will not be your friend.”
The washerman’s son looked at me mute,
Then he handed me his love.
I walked out
Followed by his wordless screams.
I did not return.
Passers By
The friendship of casual acquaintances is heaven.
Amity is exchanged in one word utterances
And the day’s burden is lightened.
The Homeless Man
Confucius of the busy street,
Your words of wisdom only you can understand.
Sanity would pave over your diamonds.
For the interested gaze, you would only have
Platitudes in return.
Street Walkers
Brightly armored with warpaint, you huddle in a corner
And passing buses throw light on your faces.
Your smiles stab the air like knives.
Your interest in passersby is casual to professional,
But plump men with solitary secrets
Fear the indictment of your eyes.
