"The Possibles," A Poetry Post

Here in the kitchen with my
goblet of orange juice,
I realize that it could have been a
glass of Chardonnay or a
fifth of whisky or a
shot of bourbon had
circumstances been different.

At work where I create universes
I remember that I could have been a
temptress on a street corner or a
loan shark on the boulevard or the
Queen Pin of some underground
criminal organization.

Home where I'm a housewife I'm a-
ware of the short distance between the
state of my humanity and
who I easily could be if
the two steps to the left became the
path to my today.

I do not presume that we
(you yourself and me)
are equal,
or perhaps we are,
but I do not presume that I am
eons better than you are if
you are drinking and hiding your bottles or
swapping your sex partners
every three days.

I believe that
had I taken one more step
to the left,
I could be you and
be a worse you
and meet you on the street and
curse you.

We do not remain apart from
deeds that ruin hearts
through denial.

We remain divine by knowing
possibles.

When I see you doing your whatevers,
I don't judge too swiftly
since your faults are
oh so near me.

It is by the grace of God that
you don't find me splayed, undone and
clinging to some precipice.

Promise you that if you think
restraint is my attempt to place you
on a level underneath me,
it's because you don't believe me
when I say that you could be ME.

There are just two steps here right for
you to change your entire life and
leave your bottles and your men to
start your life over again if
that is what you're thinking.

Then perhaps you'll write a ditty too
for people who think that they know you
when in truth they do not have a clue
about your groundedness.

It's not the feeling of a queen that
keeps me sane and even-keeled.
It's knowing what I could have been
that lets me know the way you feel.

-T. D. James-Moss

"A Southern Man's Wife," A Poetry Post

I'm a Southern man's wife.

I throw my chicken grease
on the edge of my property.

I'm wearing my husband's t-shirt,
cause it don't matter WHAT
you think of my clothes.

In two minutes I'mma
bring out the rice pot from
last night and
dump the water in this
hole.

This is my land.
Seems to me I can
dump whatever I want
on it.

And if you watching me
out yo' window,
what 'chu doin' watchin me while I'm
dumping my food trash?

Don't you know I'mma
Southern man's wife?

He is not concerned with your
judgements regarding
what goes on in
HIS YARD.

He say if he come out here in his
boxers,
and you standing on yo' porch
watching us,
then you deserve an eyeful of
whatever you see, honey.

That's why I'm out here,
dumping my food trash,
so I can get back to the kitchen and
fry my man some more chicken.

I knew when I got married what I
was getting into.

I'm sure you had NO IDEA
when you moved here,
who or what you'd see
creeping down the stairs
with a frying pan at
4 p.m. in the daylight.

But you live 'deya,
and I live here.

So it really
ain't
no issue
to be
discussed.

-T. D. James-Moss