Hair rollers set under what oven doors pack,
strands of coiled bounty bound to heat.
Real gold won’t flatten till 2000 degrees so
Make it hot. Real hot girl shit hot girl
summer. I’ve drawn in my peacock feathers,
razing with each step on the block. My
mumu wafting in the wind glitters catching skin
light like the sun’s wink. Every she
cross legged in the salon, glass
window is front & length is ceiling to floor
for the jaw drop of their sweat. I pass the salon
to say whatup to Papi at the bodega & part
my $1.00 snapple from its encased
brethren. Papi knows me & my cotton,
my mane half-done, half plaited down ears
of corn, half stood
as unhacked weeds at attention.
My cousin whole
yellin’ not to go out there
with my hair like that. My mans doddles his mountain
bike close to the kind of nature that is paved
over. This being how I learned love: concrete
my knees in gravel beds, taking road
into the home, my skin unpeelin’ to its white meat
like a potato. & still timed every store-run for the unspiral
of roller sets. Curls a buoyant
wave of shimmer catching every metal
surface jealous of this kind of gleam, glamour
unbound to gravity.
I Have forgotten
May I be far removed from contending creeds and dogmas.
Ever since my Lord’s grace entered my mind,
My mind has never strayed to seek such distractions.
Accustomed long to contemplating love and compassion,
I have forgotten all difference between myself and others.
Accustomed long to meditating on my Guru as enhaloed over my head,
I have forgotten all those who rule by power and prestige.
Accustomed long to meditating on my guardian deities as inseparable from myself,
I have forgotten the lowly fleshly form.
Accustomed long to meditating on the secret whispered truths,
I have forgotten all that is said in written or printed books.
Accustomed, as I have been, to the study of the eternal Truth,
I’ve lost all knowledge of ignorance.
Accustomed, as I’ve been, to contemplating both nirvana and samsara as inherent in myself,
I have forgotten to think of hope and fear.
Accustomed, as I’ve been, to meditating on this life and the next as one,
I have forgotten the dread of birth and death.
Accustomed long to studying, by myself, my own experiences,
I have forgotten the need to seek the opinions of friends and brethren.
Accustomed long to applying each new experience to my own spiritual growth,
I have forgotten all creeds and dogmas.
Accustomed long to meditating on the Unborn, the Indestructible, the Unchanging,
I have forgotten all definitions of this or that particular goal.
Accustomed long to meditating on all visible phenomena as the Dharmakaya,
I have forgotten all meditations on what is produced by the mind.
Accustomed long to keeping my mind in the uncreated state of freedom,
I have forgotten all conventions and artificialities.
Accustomed long to humbleness, of body and mind,
I have forgotten the pride and haughty manner of the mighty.
Accustomed long to regarding my fleshly body as my hermitage,
I have forgotten the ease and comfort of retreats and monasteries.
Accustomed long to knowing the meaning of the Wordless,
I have forgotten the way to trace the roots of verbs, and the
sources of words and phrases.
You, 0 learned one, may trace out these things in your books
I have forgotten – Milarepa
luam/asa-luam, Aracelis Girmay
the afterworld sea – Arecelis Girmay
Many, many things
They call to mind