Stone, Madison, Green, and Barbare inspire Day 12: aaduna's NPM Celebration

Cherish It Forever

A strand of hair caught in your beard,
“You don’t want that” I interfered

You reached out with another endeavor,

“Yes I do… I’ll keep it and cherish it forever.”

A black cat in a baggy purple knitted sweater,

Fifth grade is the earliest confirmed date of this fetter,

It was the first time I noted something was wrong,

Hiding my developing body, just wanting to belong,

“Hey Kiddo” you’d say and open your arms,

A treasured routine, that began to set off alarms,

Sitting on his knee, held tighter than I wanted to be,

The moment my heart and logic began to disagree

A strand of hair caught in your beard,
“You don’t want that” I interfered

You reached out with another endeavor,

“Yes I do… I’ll keep it and cherish it forever.”

In that first summer, it was as if I were blind,

Having my full trust was part of his design,

Feeding off my passion of art and poetry,

The golden key to his deceptive ingenuity,

You’d say, “I want you to have the things you want”,

The barrier around me, without notice, became gaunt,

Embedding your essence into every creative outlet,

The very core of me began to face an unseen threat,

A strand of hair caught in your beard,
“You don’t want that” I interfered

You reached out with another endeavor,

“Yes I do… I’ll keep it and cherish it forever.”

That second summer, an obligation to sleep next to you

Fear washed over me until it soaked all the way through,

Keeping needles in my wallet to control “pain”,

Sleeves hiding the cuts I’d quietly attain,

“I don’t like being alone” you whispered to me,

Guilting me to stay, the day I had asked to leave,

And I learned to keep my feelings covered and discreet,

Measured by how many bottles of aspirin I could eat,

A strand of hair caught in your beard,
“You don’t want that” I interfered

You reached out with another endeavor,

“Yes I do… I’ll keep it and cherish it forever.”

The clock was ticking loudly the January of 2005,

His pedophilic needs, unknowingly I started to deprive,

I had distanced myself from the world, from him,

Fearing the outlook in front of me for it was grim,

“It hurts me when you don’t talk to me” he finally said,

Control was gone, the cuts deep enough that they bled,

Home was unsafe, but I had broken, became silent,

The scattered pieces turned on me, became violent,

A strand of hair caught in your beard,
“You don’t want that” I interfered

You reached out with another endeavor,

“Yes I do… I’ll keep it and cherish it forever.”

Nine years, exactly, to the date,

I dreamt a dream that felt so great,

Of a boy I have yet to meet,

Fear and guilt begin to feel obsolete,

Strands of hair he and I pulled from a pillow,

As we blew them we watched them billow,

Like ocean waves they floated across the living room,

An innocent conclusion to these memories I’ve exhumed.

© 2014 Julisa Stone

Auburn, New York                

Julisa Stone (photo provided)

  * * *

Lullaby           for Baby from the poet

birth     death   birth

I felt you watching, waiting

           

at the fence at pray from way back

wanting your story put to melody.

These poems, Baby,

are milk I cradle,

tuck you under woman-wonder.

Sleep, Baby, sleep.

Sweet, Baby, sweet.

Sleep in sweet, sweet

beautyblack

death     birth     death

sweetblack

           

birthblack

© 2011 Tamara Madison

Orlando, Florida                    

 

Tamara Madison (photo provided)

* * *

ritual

i want to dance in the graveyard

and spread marigolds

over the graves of the lost.

read the tibetan book of the dead, she says.

I will, I say,

but I am afraid.

i want to wear black, then grey,

then mauve with pearls.

i want to write notes on black bordered paper.

he's here, your father (bobby).

jamie will contact you soon, it's good news.

(the wedding announcement came the next day).

i want to laugh at the skeleton in the closet

and mock what lurks in

the shadows.

read the tibetan book of the dead, she says again.

we need to release our dead,

we need to send them on.

i long to have sugar skulls melt on my tongue

so that they erase the thick, ashen taste of 

death

leaving only sweetness behind.

© 2011 Christine Green

Brockport, New York            

Christine Green (photo provided)

* * * 

The Tree and Its Shadow

Like two children, the tree and

Its shadow

Playing in the yard

Swinging around and around

As holding hands or seesawing.

Going to bed at twilight

As the moon tucks them in,

Then they swing round

And round seesawing

Cutting up like

Black and white children should.

© 2011 Daniel P. Barbare                  

Greenville, South Carolina       

Daniel P. Barbare (photo provided)

 *   *   *

aaduna - a timeless exploration into words and images - is a globally read, multi-cultural, and diverse online literary and visual arts journal established in 2010.  Visit us at www.aaduna.org where we put measurable actions to our words.

Help us build community!  Share with your friends,  "like" our Aaduna-Inc facebook page and follow us on twitter @ aadunaspeaks !  

 aaduna-Inc  Visit regularly for updates !

 @aadunaspeaks