“Mom, Why do you have a Tramp Stamp?”

Cheap red wine, lemon-ginger tea, fine China,

Mesmerized by a carousel of emotions wringing the throats of young Daughters.

Painted baby-blue fingernails, tongue piercings, hip rings’

A butterfly embellished down the spine of her back– perched on her lower bones.

 Escapades with esquires, replenished by a hot spring, tendencies to uproot indulgence in youthful mannerisms a Mother–

Wanting to feel connected.

Her body littered with reminders, trinkets from her past, a pastel painting in place of her Actual face.

Tenderness, Earth tones, Ankhs in a chrysalis,

The rebirth of a tramp-stamp never looked so good on wrinkled skin.

-As a Mother…

 

Hye Won Hye 

The wind breathes life into her vessel,

A divine temple; impenetrable by her spirit alone.

I wonder if the force of Love is her only kryptonite,

A lonesome sentiment of jaded benevolence that Love is.

Love is a consumer,

An overwhelming rushed experience–

All at once, it can become you.

She embodies it, though it is her weakness.

She wears Love on the palms of her hands when you grab them,

On the back of her neck when you kiss it,

And it rests in-between her shoulder blades, it’s called

The Love in her sternum.

She leaves the fire of Love unscathed,

Then begins to wade the waters of abundance–

She ascends drenched in Gold.

I ask her how she does it,

“Always keep enough Love to fit in your own pocket, don’t give it all away.”

– Love, not in its finest hour

 

Plums in the Winter

Plum nectar in a chalice, her fingers dipped in honey-gold paint, wrapped.

Babies in the winter time, cold in the afternoon–

Cherry-picked into affinity, the color purple graces the tops of her toes.

The voice of Anita Baker trembles past her lips,

Thankfully, she left one right-hand in the mix.

In her God body, she switches to the rhythm of the electrified bass–

Places her arms around the world only she can carry,

Lift her up…

Lift her up!

Wings of change spring from her back as her rose tinted, Mahogany skin entices you.

Our hands fall to our sides, the ground catches our knees and graciousness guides us to her embrace.

We lift her up and

Follow suit.

-It’s about the inside

 

My poems are made free for individual interpretation. I hope you feel uplifted and these reach you well. 

Love Ashanté