Niema Jordan

 

The Ritual

 Grandma smiles sweet like

She’s savoring peach cobbler

But I know the truth

 

Soon we won’t be here

Forced out of communities

That they don’t understand

They say they wanna make it better

But they wanna make us non-existent

 

Shipped off to places to where

It’s hard to scrape together and existence

Because the fortresses they build to get away from us

Are collapsing

 

They wanna build condos over slums

But the stench of our pain

Will seep through faux marble floors

 

Grandma you’re strong

But there are some things that you can’t hide

I know the truth

 

Mamma exhales it with cancer fumes

I tell her the smoke will kill her

She glances at me to say she didn’t start the process

 

Part of an experiment

Death started when they built the projects

With no intention of creating progress

 

But now that

We’ve made something from nothing

Learned to make open areas with broken glass

Into football fields

Corner stores

Into Boys and Girls clubs

Corridors and brick walls

Into galleries

And abandoned porches

Into pulpits

They wanna take it away

 

Snatch breath when we finally catch it

Move us around and

We’ll never be able to catch up

 

Grandma you can’t hold us together

Outside forces are trying to tear us apart

It’s wearing on mom’s soul

I can see it her eyes

Grandma don’t lie

 

I know the truth

 



There comes a time where introspection is more valuable than any view taken

Late nights in a bed full of my thoughts

And absent any body heat except my own

I scour over details of my life

Trying to locate the missing pieces that will piece me together

Eyes well with tears that will not drop

Because I haven’t found enough reason for them

Everything must have a purpose

And some times relief and sanity are not enough

I tend to key in on cycles that repeat themselves

Like this trend of me being other

Instead of primary

And better yet only

 

Could it be my ability to disconnect that causes lack of investment

So distant in seems that I would be right for the wrong

 

 

I am everything she is not

And she everything that I have not found myself to be

There is a pattern here

I am usually seen as the stronger of the two

She the docile

Predictable

I the independent

Even eccentric

She the owner of heart

I the intriguer of mind

Never enough and always too much to have one of my own

 

 

Sometimes it is a game to see if they can break the code

To peel back the layers and see if my soul is as soft as they’ve learned a woman’s should be

Other times it is the joy in knowing that I won’t get attached

So there is no worry about me confronting either if I ever find out

 

Luckily I never stay

Figure out early on that I am not of the road to full ownership

And even when I don’t want that

There is something about the possibility

Who leases without the option to buy

Never comfortable enough to ignore the signs

I pick up on locations and times

Realize if he is never at home

Or if the hours of calls only fall between 9 and 5 or after midnight

I understand creating false intimacy

Peeks into life that are give enough information for familiarity

But not enough for knowing

There is a difference between being able to name your brothers and sisters

And being able to point them out or have them recognize me

 

Still being this in tune is quite new

On my search to define my sexual and emotional freedom outside of feminine norm

I was too consumed with using to know when I was being used

Found freedom in being as free as him

Soon to find out that both freedoms were false

Because he was attached

And I deprived of the choice

Most times I was still too detached to be fully effected when I found out

 

But now the slightest trace of guilt in his face

Makes me feel blemished inside

And I don’t know whom I hurt more for

Him who wants to but finds it difficult to stay true

For she who knows what he does but is too in love to leave

Or myself who makes the discovery only after giving a portion of me

 

It’s easiest to write him off as an ass and her as dumb

Best to say that I haven’t devoted enough time to care

But late night listening to sound of my breath in my ear

When all fronts and logic melt away

I still question what is so other about me



Sometimes the concrete feels better than grass

Strength, heat, and determination

Unwavering even when stepped on

Always there, no matter the season

Something more inspiring about the flowers that

Grow where they shouldn’t

Sun shining where it shouldn’t

Water existing among the presumed dry and destitute

A more admirable strength in baby mamas that survive

Than scholars that were given the hand me downs of success

Hard knock sometimes more valuable than ivory towers

Because some lessons have meaning

Beyond rhetoric and theory

 

A level of nostalgia

Gives way to romanticizing street lives

Comfort gets mistaken for

A sign of the way things should be

And it seems easier just to go back to the way things were

The way your real friends still are

A place void of judgment

Or dumb conversations about things of no consequence

Where creativity is seen for what it is

And not looked down on as an example of the unrefined

 

It’s hard not going back

Aspirations to grow

Conflict with fears of forgetting

A mistake worse than selling out

Because the latter is a conscious action

A foot in each world

Isn’t as easy as it seems

Some lines are thin

But these

These are invisible

 

And this is what lies in the balance

When diplomas that are rarely granted

Lead to degrees that are seldom acquired

And breed identity crisis while

Have nots become haves

Without power to pull others up

Academic year brings friends with expensive habits

And notable reputations

Vacations home take us back to blocks where

The term is a pseudonym for jail time

Between text messages that never say what we mean

Or convey what we feel

A mother’s hope

That her baby girl has finally found a good guy

Relationship rules that pile up on my desk

In the form of advice books

Inquiries from friends who have been waiting for the day to come

Baggage

And ill-conceived misperceptions of what it should look like

I long for the room to just be

 

The ability to not have the answers

And for once be ok with that

To exist in the moment

Let a fun weekend of activities be just that

For a passionate late night session

Not to require analysis

 

I question what it’d be like

Not to wonder what this will be weeks and months from now

For you to be a tool of self-discovery

Sans guilt or wondering

To not be haunted by jezebel imagery

That pushes me borderline a-sexual mammy

Because I’ve been told it’s the path to wifey

 

Oh not to be reminded of lives devoted to a love unreciprocated

Women building men up

For the next woman to reap the benefits and titles

That they never wanted to pressure him into

 

I’d rather sip Negra Modelos

And watch the romances I’ve internalize dance across the screen

Burn blunts and incense

While discussing the state of education

The real meaning of change

How we navigate religion versus spirituality

And definitions of blackness

 

Instead of counting days between calls to make sure that are adequately spaced

Wondering if my call was sent to voicemail

Or if my text was ignored

Only to find that you were busy doing something

I knew you were doing in the first place

I’d prefer to tell you when I wanted to see you without apprehension

To invite you places

Simply because I enjoy your company

And not worry that it translates as needy

 

Unfortunately I haven’t come up with a solution

A way to for standards and “letting it flow” to coincide

Haven’t quite grasped how to let this be organic, allow myself to have emotions, and make sure my needs are met, keep my boxes and expectations in tact

 

No way to balance it all

Or real resolution for this poem

 

 

Searching for words

But can’t pin point the feeling I’m trying to describe

Thus Letters jumble together

Like my thoughts

Neither her nor there

And I try to make them coherent

 

This is my process

Journey towards self discovering

While I front like I have it all figured out

Can’t write for stage now

Can’t think about winning fans

I’m trying to touch sanity

Writing my life and designing my path

I have to do this

 

Poems reveal what I think about myself

Insecurities splatter on paper

Confidence hides between the lines

This is me trying to figure something out

My reflection on page

 

In some ways my words betray me

When I pretended not to care

They told him I was in love

When I said I was complete

They said I was missing a father

Me and my words

We have this history

Betrayed not only in what is written

But by what I haven’t been able to write

 

My life lays

And sometimes attempts to lie on these lines

But the truth always comes out

 

I need this

Can’t forsake it

Can’t abandon my words

In search of degrees and careers

Can’t put them to the side to report the dreams of someone else

Can’t forget them in the pursuit of the dream that was never mine to have

Can’t lose my words

Because then I’ll lose myself