standing in her section 8 kitchen

(a poem for didi)

yahweh is in love watching her
standing in her section 8 kitchen
first earth hips
he remembers and thumbs a sea of clouds

each soft east
windows slowly agasp where the sea curtains chant
exhaling the morning breadwork aria
yahweh's memory is rain
hills rise and green in his belly like laughter
luminous warm eye of morning laughter
rinsing clear in the river eddy where his smile bends

yahweh changes the trees from arabic to english
rotates morning in his awesome eye
bathing in the new sun gift of fruit and aqua tile
he forgets who he is
fantasy wide as an august of clear midnights
sends him spinning around the universe in joy

she is tall with soft heels he sees
tall enough to kiss his chest if he willed it

that would slow him in the 6 am stars

elbows at work polishing the morning drift
her dress is the early tide
yahweh made her while watching the sea come and go
mother sister lover wife
extract of mahogany
archipelago of beautiful silences
eloquent austere hymn

the country pours itself over her mother eye
she prepares the day’s linen for each poor preacher
each white shirt she hung on each clothesline
a flag of surrender to the million mile morning sky

and the sky from yahweh a day hung dawning
lean woman fresh in his dawn moves pots like
small ships stirring work in the bay
he watches her make her way
sits in her kitchen dreaming
one window frames jamaica
the other extending to africa
a prayer and apples for haiti
a bird dances 300 quick steps
yahweh laughs and becomes the bird
in his folly
struggles with a small rock
syncopates his small body then shrills away

sound blooms
comes from a country of night to this beautiful bright place
things have begun
in mali marketplaces have been negotiating for hours
international airspace and yams
fish and foreign policy
tankers full of shoes in the pacific current
a ugandan insurance man shines against the bank windows

and you are yahweh
in the ovation of the rising continent
love this woman for whoever she is to you
even if she is an equatorial dream
a song under a sketch of african trees
the first beautiful woman you saw vending in grenada
a mother you never had
a neighbor who lived beside you for only a brief time
or part lust naked beneath her morning clothes
hide your hope in her locks under her headwrap
coax the first conversation from her unclear throat
when she is done with things that must be done
cleaning the indefinite face of morning
say something
turn her face to you
now now woman
woman woman
woman
black woman
how are you?