I lay awake Thoughts of times past The sound of your footsteps pacing The sanctuary of hot coffee Silver of your hair glistening under a single kitchen bulb Silver the age of restless Awakened long before dawn Silver doesn’t need…
Browsing: Poetry
My mother loses the tip of her nose to melanoma. She loses her last sweetheart Art when his daughter forced him to move across the country. She loses her friends one by one as they died. She loses her swim…
Age has found me with a tube of red lipstick, a missing front tooth and a partial I had to put in the lay-a-way cuz it cost too much to buy outright Got pesky moles removed from my face an…
The history of my hair My curls These grays…. My canas Are the maps of my life Each strand confirms I’ve lived through some things I’ve been through some things I’ve seen some things My curls scream Africa Afrolatina Woman…
I leave the hard liquor and the loud talk, that special pot of New Years’ souse. I seek the quiet my elders taught: As the night turned, as the year turned, bad leg or not, my grandfather knelt before his…
I do not recognize the hand that grasps mine… Strong, but no flesh-cushion smooths its bony contours. Brown, but bluish conduits of life bulge and writhe, While newly freckled skin sinks ’round visible cords of thick sinew. It seems I…
Springtime returns, burdened with poetry. Tulips nod by the water lily-dotted pool where layer upon joyous layer of color brightens. Colors will recede, the sunlight will change. I have been to Giverny. Paris to Vernon by train, taxi to Monet’s…
In the crisp clear air of winter nipping at autumn’s backside, the neighbor’s persimmon tree stands two and a half stories tall. Its canopy naked of leaves, reshaped by the drag of its fruit: tear- and globe-shaped shocks of waxen…
Curator’s Statement – Lorraine Currelley It was my honor to curate Mom Egg VOX Gallery, January 2016. A welcomed opportunity to curate a gallery whose theme is near and dear to me; Age and Aging. I…
You, little movie theatre in Harlem, two blocks from my home, Do you remember how you took Mama and me in on weekends? Like magic on that big screen, you kept Mama sober. A huge tub of popcorn on our…