I have a coconut soda hometown remembrance,
of a blue-moon day in August, in fact it may
have been the 4th of July.  I recall three horseflies gulping red at the brand new blood creek running
from my mama’s mouth down her chin to a small county
at the base of her throat.  A Billie Holiday record swinging in the living room spread her gardenia-perfumed
voice over the corner where all our neighbors could see
Mama, Daddy, Uncle Winston and Aunt Lucy settin’ fire
to a buncha ghosts jumpin’ out’a their hearts.  My Daddy
and Uncle Winston had large pee stains on their pants
and thus Aunt Lucy declared they were “pissy drunk.”

I have a coconut soda hometown remembrance of the morning Aunt Lucy burned all the
biscuits but made us children, me and Little Big Boy
and CarrieBell, eat the charcoal-crusted bread anyway, ‘cause wasn’t no mo’ food in the house except for some coconut cream sodas
Mama brought home from a party.  And the biscuits
was nasty but chewin’ on ‘em drowned out the sound
of my daddy and Uncle Winston yelling in the front yard
‘til one of their ghosts screamed so loud it scared the ink-black burnt-up taste right out of those biscuits.

I have a coconut soda hometown remembrance of standing in the front yard chewin’ on biscuits when my Mama stood between Daddy and Uncle Winston
‘til they both slapped her at the same time and she
crumbled like an empire knocked to its mortal knees.
Uncle Winston’s hazel-green eyes poured melting knives
into my Daddy’s copper-colored gaze and Uncle Winston
pointed at me as he shouted: “We gotta get this thing straight
Joe-Joe!  Those two youngest ones is yours and ain’t nobody
disputin’ that!  But that oldest boy mine!  Your wife know it!
You know it!  And that boy got the right to know it too!
He nine years old and he got the right to know it too!”

I have a coconut soda hometown remembrance of a blue-moon day in August, July 4th.
My Daddy and Uncle Winston arguing in the front yard.
My Mama crying, “Ain’t none’a this necessary! Y'all know this ain’t necessary in front of these children.”
And her voice like a scratched Billie Holiday record.
And me workin’ on one of Aunt Lucy’s biscuits when the sunlight slicked its tongue against a knife
in my Daddy’s hand.  Then it flashed again and the knife
was in Uncle Winston’s hand, and even without closing
my eyes same-strange-color-as-Uncle-Winston’s  eyes,
I can at this moment still see my daddy’s spirit shootin’ like an arrow out’a his bones while his body
fell into Uncle Winston’s arms as if he needed to kiss him.
Uncle Winston looked at me once.  Once.  Then he ran.

I have a coconut soda hometown remembrance of my Aunt Lucy trying with two hands to cover
three children’s eyes.  My Daddy’s body dropping like a bomb.
My Mama apologizing for burning Aunt Lucy’s biscuits
and telling me, “Drink this soda-water baby, hurry up,
it ain’t gon wash that nasty taste out your mind, but it’ll help you swallow the one in your mouth.”

 
Aberjhani

(from I MADE MY BOY OUT OF POETRY)