One of my favorite poets is Nikki Giovanni. I remember the time I nearly broke my neck traveling from Brooklyn to see her at a reading and book signing in Harlem. The crowds closed in around her and called out "Ms. Giovanni, Ms. Giovanni". I could see that she was becoming visibly overwhelmed by the expression of love poured out for what she considers her personal "revolution". I purchased a copy of My House and joined the crowd of admirers who begged for her undivided attention. Finally she asked what my name is and scribbled a quick note onto the title page. I gripped the book and held it close to my heart as I floated away.

I see a lot of my own life experiences reflected in the poetry of Nikki Giovanni. Poems like "Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day" touch upon my spirit with the words,

It seems no matter how
I try I become more difficult
to hold
I am not an easy woman
to want.

Classics like "Ego tripping" that boldly proclaim,

I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal
I cannot be comprehended except by my permission
I mean...I...can fly
like a bird in the sky...

Even her love poems are "straight talk" with no chaser, therefore the title piece of "My House" is the vehicle to "express emotion through" today.

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My House
Nikki Giovanni

i only want to
be there to kiss you
as you want to be kissed
when you need to be kissed
where i want to kiss you
cause its my house and i plan to live in it

i really need to hug you
when i want to hug you
as you like to hug me
does this sound like a silly poem

i mean its my house
and i want to fry pork chops
and bake sweet potatoes
and call them yams
cause i run the kitchen
and i can stand the heat

i spent all winter in
carpet stores gathering
patches so i could make
a quilt
does this really sound
like a silly poem

i mean i want to keep you
warm

and my windows might be dirty
but its my house
and if i can't see out sometimes
they can't see in either

english isn't a good language
to express emotion through
mostly i imagine because people
try to speak english instead
of trying to speak through it
i don't know maybe it is
a silly poem

i'm saying it's my house
and i'll make fudge and call
it love and touch my lips
to the chocolate warmth
and smile at old men and call
it revolution cause what's real
is really real
and i still like men in tight
pants cause everybody has some
thing to give and more
important need something to take

and this is my house and you make me
happy
so this is your poem