
it came in waves today
grief did
the sound of Yolanda Adams opening her heart
did it
I was wrong to listen
her voice was a gun
her lyrics, a trigger
me, the victim
she was thunder
my tears
rain
Yolanda knows I can’t listen to that song
it hoola hooped on the radio in ’99
the year we lived with him
and I combed my Barbie’s hair to her voice
as my Dad’s memory rode on the backs of those lyrics
a warrior
the knight and shining armor
of my adolescents
invisible crown on his head
he is bald now
cancer ate away his hair
and I rubbed Witch Hazel on his foot
I kissed his forehead
I am thirteen again and my heart is inexperienced
I am not ready for the lightening on its way to me
My hands are too small to hold the weight of what’s about to happen
“What if I choose the wrong thing to do?”
she sings
and in my warrior walks
the cab driver in nice suits
his words are “hip” like his style and his commandments
“don’t sleep ready rose,” meaning,
“don’t sleep in your outside clothes”
“I feel so lost, I don’t know what to do,”
in he walks
tight-roping Yolanda’s lyrics
In those sharp suits
riding on the back of my preteen memories
and I curl my small fingers into a fist
and fit them inside the center of my Dad’s palm
the way we used to do
the way his hand covered my entire fist
the way he’s tight-roping on my heart strings
the way memory crawled its way into my throat this morning
“I just need to hear one word from you,”
Yolanda’s voice penetrates the clouds
the thunder growls
the lightning strikes
and I am thirteen again and the year is 2000
the final moan of a passing storm
and James walks out of the door
his name planting kisses on my forehead
and anointing my eyes
with grief