big old houses have passed away

like summer's dust

green apples/polk salad/the A.M.E. Church

blue sky and Rev. Baddy's sermon

the safety of Grandma's rocker

a lullaby from her knee/her sweet voice

her hands so clean and praying/or scolding

she tends her mother's grave

her father was a slave

"go to sleep little baby
go to sleepy little baby
when you wake patty patty cake
ride a big white pony"

a brown flood breaks the banks

down at the branch/where i wrote my first poem

flowers bloom in a vacant yard

where there was once a house/with a porch

and six low steps with carpet painted on

i place my head next to earth

and listen deep for voices

recognition/memory

song

close my hand over empty soil

where once grew corn collards

and tomatoes 2 lbs. big

close my eyes to see the patchwork quilt

of time and impossibility

that covers me like kente cloth

and i close my eyes to see

no longer growing up but older

a woman who bleeds with the moon

and waits for a a child

to burden with this heritage