You Were Not Old (Excerpt from “Hard Conversations: Love Poems by Rakeem OneVoice Person”)

Lil bruh, I thought
maybe you’d rise
on the third day
after a releasing of purple and gold balloons
confirmed you had
in fact
died at 28

But you did not rise
You did not rise
from your sick bed
in the certainty of youth

When did you grow old in body?

I did not know.

I could ask why
but what are petty reasons
when you, Lil Bruh, simply did not
have strength to rise
three days after
laughter and normalcy
outhummed the motor
of your oxygen tank

I thought you’d breathe again
on your own
considering
how much we laughed.
I thought:
What is hospice to your little brother soul?

You were not old
We were not old
and even if we were
would hardearned wrinkles
have remedied suspended time?

I do not know
what more solace a silvered crown
would have bestowed.
I am not old
and I remember you clearly.

Sometimes my laugh echoes yours
as if my body is a canyon.
Other times, tears carve fresh streams
toward healing.

I wonder:
What is death to kinship?

You were not old, and your little brother spirit
still blesses the laughter
between my tears

I am not old
Though I fear I have aged
without you

Where do I start?

#art-therapy, #cancer, #death, #faith, #grief, #hard-conversations, #hope, #life, #loss, #love, #love-poems, #mourning, #poem, #poetry, #raw, #relationships

Partnership

You tell him again
To mind his manners
In the matters that
Sway him to anger

That God
Isn’t a genie
Who grants wishes
To those who find
His bejeweled lamp
In a cave of riches

Again you tell him
To mind his manners

That though he labors
For dollars spent
Those dollars spent
Must not be careless

Tell him again
Tell him again

#love, #marriage, #mothers, #poem, #relationships

Soilman

When the seed
burst its shell
as I held it to my chest
the tree cramped in the sapling
took root

I braced myself
familiar with the intrusion
of nature’s feet
taking liberty with my
sedimentary flesh
familiar with strange roots
coiling through me

searching?
for water?

reaching?
for clay?
that they can mold?

hoping?
for rock?
holding water?

I make room?
accommodating?
nature’s quiet advance?

I am ever solid,
supporting forests
I am also soft
when pushed
and pressed
and prodded
by roots that
keep their intentions
to themselves

-Rahk.

#journal, #poem, #poetry, #relationships

A Poem Translating: “She Crazy”

To her
I am a still puddle
slowly evaporating
She knows it’s happening
While she watches

She cries
Aware that the sun’s heat
Rushes my gradual escape
She defiantly yells,
Already familiar
With the freestyle
Of staccato raindrops

And her smile flickers with each drop
It jerks and tugs and pops
She can no longer see her beauty reflected
In me

Still puddle she sees
But I’m Atlantic Ocean
Pushing and tugging on southern shores
Still puddle she sees
Though I am Atlantic Ocean
On an October night

To her
I am a still puddle
Still evaporating
She prays for permanence
knowing parts of me are already gone

#hope, #journal, #life, #loss, #love, #marriage, #poem, #poetry, #relationships, #spoken-words

No More Hand Me Downs

this weight is not mine
i won’t wear it

you can keep it for yourself
since you want to be down

this weight is not mine
i won’t wear it

don’t care how stylish it is
don’t matter how fine an antique–
don’t nothing that heavy belong to me

keep it for yourself
if you want to be down


-Rahk.

#poem, #poetry, #raw, #relationships, #sons

Rather Than Silence

I’d rather you scream
So long as your scream
Contains the reason
Why your I love you hides behind your teeth

I’d rather you cuss
And belittle my concerns
So long as I know what it is
I have done to hold your I love you hostage

I’d rather you sob
Through confessions of doubt
So long as I bear witness to the certainty of your will

I’d rather yell
I’d rather fuss
I’d rather leave
Than smear silence
In your open wounds


~Rahk.

#poem, #raw, #relationships

With a Note

In 2012, all I had of yours:
a whisper in the dark
a hug behind closed curtains
the questions you left me with.

They belonged to you:
That fitted-cap whisper
That capricious hug
That polluted reality.
I never wanted your things

You gave me:
mixed whispers,
closed-curtained embraces,
subconscious kisses,
Now in broad daylight,
I lay them on your back porch.

I deserved more than your darkness.


-Rahk

#grief, #letter, #poem, #poetry, #raw, #relationships, #water