poem of the day

I Wonder, Black Brother

I see you, black brother
dancing in the subway
Your children and wife laughing,
ready to exit the train.
And I wonder: May I go with you?

Black brother, I see you
with your loafers and backpack
and physics book in hand,
Waiting to sprint once the doors slide open.
And I wonder: May I sprint along with you?

You, black brother, I see
sitting on the platform bench,
resting against your shopping cart
of hand-picked bottles and rags.
And I wonder: May I sit and rest with you?

Black brother, you, I see
wearing your dinosaur shirt,
beaming a proud strawberry ice-cream-coated grin.
And I wonder: May I scoop you in my arms and never let you go again?

I worry about you, brother, every time we meet, and I wonder
if a young white-skinned woman is what you need in your possession to keep you safe.
To get you home alive.

Because I see you, dear brother,
as a human being.
One that matters so goddamn much to me.

This is My Church

Sunday morning

Sunday morning
seeps softly
tumbles gently
as early grey light.
Silver air, satin spilling
a winter ghost
exhaling
through the open net
of my bedroom curtains.
“Hush,” whispers no voice.
And I am still
awake for the second time
since rising.

Photo credit: Amelia Isabel

When you love yourself, and I mean really love yourself

Love Reflection

When you love yourself, and I mean really love yourself,
you cannot help but look at that person in the mirror and weep.
That person who lives in a body tailor-made to swell and shrink
with the tides of food; whose scars, curves, lines, and bumps
pattern the casing of an animal, a house of the entire emotional spectrum;
whose dreams churn the engines and heat the heart;
and whose laughter delights the stars and all ancestors before her.

Yes, I love you.
All of you, person that is Me.
Every inch. Every piece.
Finally.

Ā© Amelia Isabel

Photo credit: Amelia Isabel, in Buenos Aires, Argentina