juba girl (15)

juba girl

disambiguation in five parts

november 30, 1976

1
juba girl
a dark dawn dance
mpenzi yuko wapi
(where is yr lover?)

a lucent
judas tree in bloom
upenzi uko wapi
(where is yr love?)

her plunging roots
impale the brain
& leave the heart
a begging bowl
mungo yuko wapi?
(where is god)
ni namhitaji sasa!
(i need him now!)

2
picking up the pieces,
part i

facing myself in the glare of morning
the all important looking glass remains
for once without comment
vainly i try to scrape u from my mouth
but tongue & teeth, too, have memories,
nor will mine soon forget yr suck & whirl.
the evening past was not without its magic.
though evenly matched, we dared try each other –
i with secret knowledge; u with guile & years.
a bold advance. a sweet parry an exchange.
twice u melted under fire; twice u recovered
in time i fell before yr furtive past, defeated
& could not take u.
i am not bitter.
my blood though aches with yr confusion.
if u are shy of pain, are u not shy of joy?
would u reach out to touch desire &
doing so retreat to the void for fear?
perhaps i am bitter!

3
picking up the pieces,
part ii

a fragmented heart like a
nub of hand or stump of leg
is not without its special pain
what hurts so is missing.
one seldom offers a nub
or braves a stump to stand on.
so is a burst heart grudgingly
given unless
one like u retrieves those
scattered fragments
or most
i taste yr back
& stare down its scented valley,
wondering why an injured hand or
leg so well preserves its tragedy
but seemingly,
the heart so soon forgets

4
picking up the pieces,
part iii

at decision’s forked road i sit, a jellied heap
for now. my stomach weighs a writhing ton.
how large do nostrils grow? & does the mind
flux & drip right through them?

i am drunk on yr mixed signals
yr skin & all beneath says
love me

yr mouth forms words of non-involvement

i would believe u & flee, leaving
yr shadow with others who give relentless
chase

but that’s old even another life
& what of pride?

i’ll not take what is not freely given
so i sit & finger the wind –
at least until tomorrow.

5
blue

i must stop this dull ache

the night offers no soothing balm
nor is the radio anymore than
pitying.

i believe
i believe i’ll go back home
dust my broom
or change the lock
on my door

i’m putting time between us
hoping my walking shoes are
seven league boots
i wish i were a giant again.


©Joseph McNair 1976-2009