MIDNIGHT IN A HANDBAG (Ingrid Kerr~Leesville, LA)

I see you in the mirror and I like what I see
Your beautiful eyes, they tear into me
No reason to doubt, but believing your eyes
made me blind to your corroded disguise

And I don't know why
but memories, memories of your eyes.
No, I don't know why
but memories, memories.... memories, memories....

I lie awake next to you listenin' to that tainted rain
and I build the wall higher that keeps me in pain
In an insane haze of diluted dreams
even a bright burnin' candle is not what it seems

It may be safety, but to me it's hell's fire
teasin' me with all the things that I desire
But I can't have them because I deny
myself the right to ask the question 'why'

I carry my little piece of midnight, in a little white handbag
Sometimes it gets so heavy, it makes my shoulders sag
Your sunrise comes to me in forgotten ways
But that little piece of midnight always stays

Lookin' at you in a neurotic sunset
I'm driftin' through memories to when we first met
Wishin' my midnight would turn to blue sky
so I could put my arms around you and dare to hope to dream to fly!

And I don't know why
but memories, memories of your eyes.
No, I don't know why
but memories, memories... memories, memories....

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

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