Singing America
Happy International Poetry Day!
In celebration, I was inspired to write this poem.
Singing America
We started with tacos
everyone says this is the best place
she was the thing that caught my attention
she must have been my mothers age
translucent skin browned by heritage
this is Mexico
she sang
we too, are America
the light was shining down on her
the stage flamed with all she was giving us
her heartbeat shot straight out and
hit me
just as she opened her mouth for the next song
she liquified fear and spilled it for all of us
it dripped onto the floor and somehow I wanted to smear my hands
in it and cover myself in this imagination of what could be
this must be the country we dream of
maybe she is America
browned and pushing 60 and so sure of herself
that wink she gives me says everything
maybe she too is the America I’ve always loved
long dark hair rich with history and allowance of grays as evidence of our sins but there to remind us of what not to do again
maybe she too is the America
when she opens her mouth I spy a hint of metal
braces tucked of metal
braces careening out of her mouth
the awkward girl
the pimpled boy
but no we will not tease her
because she is absolutely glorious
maybe she too is the America I’ve always wanted
reminding us all that always wanted
by now we have finished the tacos
and the margaritas and I can’t leave without requesting a song
Gracias A La Vida
She bows towards me starts to pluck her guitar and the song goes
it just keeps going
Thank You Life
She is tilting her head back and singing with every muscle
I can see it
she is choosing to believe tat that life
in the end
has been good to us
On the way out she grabs my hand as I
put something in her basket
those eyes dark like plums
Yes, this is America
her awkward smile
her wrinkled skin her belief that good things do happen
her colored past her wrongs often never made right
her brownness her colored ness her other ness but sameness
her belief that she can do anything she wants including sing in a bar when she’s pushing my mother’s age
her sure eyes her love for the other
this is what I love about her
Now, I’m just asking her to come
home
© Uchechi Kalu 2017