"Trip," A Poetry Post

It seems like only yesterday
a trip and fall was just a thing.
I'd miss a step and tumble down and
give my wounded pride a kiss.

But falling down today was less a
brief distress and more a trial.
Though mature enough to laugh it off,
too mature to spring up,

I needed a lift.

I sat there laughing for a moment,
dangling in my great surprise.
My mind was done with falling down,
but I felt bruising in my thighs.

For those who watched it was a minute;
for late observers maybe two.
But I hadn't fallen in so long,
I did not remember what to do.

My little boy, he did remember.
He didn't miss a single beat.
He saw me fall, reached down his hand,
and lifted me up on my feet.

He picked up his bag, and picked up his coat,
and asked me if I was okay.
He picked up the books that I had dropped,
and carried my additional weight away.

I admit, in me I see a change in
how I fall and how I rise,
but I thank God that
for a moment,
my boy was a man
in his momma's eyes.

-T. D. James-Moss

"Victories," A Poetry Post

Not all victories look like
Sister Maybelle
running cross the church
on Sunday mornings.

Some victory is as
deep and thorough
as a slow heartbeat.

Some victory looks like
a body slumped down
and sprawled out on a carpet
taking "finally I can breathe"
deep breaths.

Some victory looks
beaten, battered and bandaged,
bleeding and limping
but wincing in a smile.

Some victory looks like death,
set faced, silent and stiff,
just hanging in there.

Some victory sits
staring off into space
sorting out the foolishness
and choosing wisdom.

Don't mind you looking and seeing
sprawling bodies or
bleeding bodies or
silent bodies or
stark bodies
walking around you in a
time of trouble.

Out here,
you just see the
physical aftermath
of the
struggle.

On the inside of some folks,
Sister Maybelle is
gearing up
for her second lap praise run,
and she is already
coming out of her shoes.

-T. D. James-Moss

"Identity," A Poetry Post

I'm BLACK black.
I'm even if you check
way back in my lineage
you gone find more
dark chocolate Black than
light brown Black black
in the past. I'm
dry peas in the crock pot
with ham hock and
salt pork in the greens
Black. I'm
Grandmama could
cook and eat them
chitterlings
Black. I'm
press if you want but
no curl result Black.
Had your back
before you asked
Black. Thick hipped,
full-lipped Black.
Ain't gone holler gone
make that face Black.
Done told you once and
ain't gone tell you twice
Black. Deep down
key of G on an
August night in Jersey
with no A/C Black.
Kool-aid when it was
ten cents Black.
Puerto Rican icees and
Swedish fish from the
corner store Black.
Sit up and read by the
street light Black.
Get down when you hear
gunshots Black.
Ain't no need in me
trying to pretend that
three degrees or a
pay increase or a
brand new lease on a
Mercedes or a
new wardrobe and
high end pantyhose or a
brand new nose could
propose to make me
anything less than
been broke Black and
been cold Black and
been shame Black.
Nothing gone get me
out of all that.
Nothing gonna drive the
obsidian
out of this clod of dirt
on God's earth.
Nothing gonna make me
less Black
under any circumstances.
Nothing gonna take away
that part
of my
identity.

-T. D. James-Moss

"Weddings," A Poetry Post

You can have a wedding
standing behind a harvester's pickup truck
with the tailgate down in a pair of
dirty overalls
sweating in the July sun.

You can have a wedding in the
hallway of a trauma unit
wearing a hospital gown
being introduced as "Mr. and Mrs."
to the sound of heart monitors and
oxygen masks.

You can have a wedding in a
tiny chapel in the back of the base
with a Sergeant officiating
just before you ship out to the desert to
save the wives and husbands and lovers of others.

But you can't have a marriage under
just any circumstances.

There ain't no binding together without
shared bruisings under life's merciless whippings.

There ain't no bliss without
sacrificing bits of
individual happiness.

There ain't no excitement without
standing commitment to the
energy of one-ness.

You can have a wedding
jumping out of a plane
in Vegas
in a bathing suit with
only one chute.

But once you land and
put your feet flat on the ground with
this woman or
this man,
you gone have to cultivate
an atmosphere of
marriage.

Marriages are
not so resilient
without structure.

-T. D. James-Moss