the creative mind

has eclectic grinds.

can you guess

what dreams are made of?

deprived of things

except for the joy that brings

the imaginative and its make up.

“fame is a fickle food upon a shifted plate…”

id let Emily D. speak about what i ate today

never liked limelight beans starting at the age of eight

staring at pale green testa upon my dinner plate

Last Wednesday I met a man from the motherland. I asked, “Are you from Ethiopia?”

He said, “No love, I’m Egyptian.” 

Offered me some water, told me to take his hand.

We discussed the people we loved, and the ones we thought we can. 

He talked about his two daughters Akua and Nkechi. 

Used colorful words about his children, he was rather lively. 

Described how they smiled when they saw him thriving. 

Shared concerns of when he’ll be back, he hoped that it be timely. 

Then suggested I close my eyes because he wanted me to see

the wind that sang whispers through the eucalyptus trees. 

It was gentle, quite simple, the scent that carried whispers. 

I saw stories of a fox who survived the coldest winter, 

and the gazelle who dove gracefully into earths fiery center. 

But before she took the leap she yelled, “Keep your spirit kinder!” and her legs burst into flames

*My name…I hear my name…*

“What happened?!”

 “Oh, you’re awake. I was calling your name.”  

The Egyptian said to me.

Puzzled, I answered, 

“The last thing I remember was the aroma from the eucalyptus trees.”

He replied, “That was the incense I lit, and its’ residue you smelled.

You started talking 100 miles per minute then began to yell 

about how you enjoyed the way the leaves danced in the wind

and every time they stopped you clapped,

“ENCORE! AGAIN! AGAIN!” 

So they danced about the same length of time that my incense burned.

With your eyes closed you stood up performed a light brise’ and turned.”