Monday, September 20, 2010

Pursuer

He said
"I want to be in you."
Pause.
I grabbed my bags
and retreated slowly
in polite decline.
I'd known of him for years but
never knew him to be so
forthright.
And he was so
Light:
His presence could be
but an essence
in any room
and still be overwhelming.
For me.
I'd always felt him,
even when others occupied my time,
my mind,
but I had no idea that the feeling
was mutual,
that someone so wonderful
had enough love left
just for me.

He said,
"I want to be in you"
Not selfishly or temporarily but eternally.
I ran (bags and all),
this kind of love
too much for me.
If I let him in,
where would I go?
Who would be able to
love me,
with a pursuer so
jealous?
I mean,
he sent his people
he closed in walls
he isolated me and said
"Love me."
As I loved myself
as I loved others
as I elevated everything in my heart
but him,
he said that he needed a place there:
"Set me as a seal upon your heart
As a seal upon your arm
For is love is strong as death
Jealousy as fierce as the grave..."

I kept running, afraid.
He kept coming, lovingly,
scroll,
in pursuit.
I feared him,
but I knew I loved him
in spite of everything I
thought I wanted or
knew I needed.
He had come to me
unsummoned
so many times.
He was more than a friend
by then.
He had taken the weight of
my bags as
his burden.
He comforted me in the cover of
the night and even shamelessly in the light of day.
Loving me.
He died loving me.
So I let him in.
Markeysha Dawn Davis
Doctoral Candidate
W. E. B. Du Bois Department of Afro-American Studies
University of Massachusetts Amherst
(313) 318-1831
mddavis@afroam.umass.edu

Sunday, September 19, 2010

A Pre-Position

Me myself I
Us ourselves we
What could become
with no
conjunctions?
"I" functioning
without "U,"
and we're short
a few,
just to get technical.
Vows aren't
vows without
vowels.
Symbols are
unreal.
But signs indicate
how we feel.
Still,
I hold pen in hand
while you
grasp pride
fear...
Fate ain't enough
for some,
but understand
that it's not up for
consideration.
Billie was blue enough
for all of us;
I'm trying to live
in the green,
so I guess I'll
go and keep it
moving.
No refrain.
No repeat.
No coda.
My mode is
progressive,
ever-building,
like Trane,
my existence in the breaks of your melody:
Not what you're used to
but profoundly comforting.
I don't want to write you a love song
unless it's Supreme,
centered in Creation.
You can't realize
the new
while stationed,
so move.
Don't make a
pass
if I throw.
Go.