Wanda Coleman


A Stonehold

the thief has made me a gift of his night’ s booty

somewhere, a daughter discovers her mother’ s coral
brooch missing, somewhere, a man recoils at the absence
of his gambling stash. somewhere, a miser rifles
over a vanished ransom in newly minted silver

all this to buy a hotbed of memories
to feed the children fresh-killed lies
to open all the locks on love

forever is a moment we hold in our stomachs

Ode for Donny Hathaway

and then there are the one-hit zombies
cursed to an eternity of Monday nights

who runs our music does not make it
controls manufacture and marketing of rhythm
schemes on and fixes the charts. it’ s polyphonic
from the dark of the chitlin to solid gold dawn
doublecrossed over

a love come down

after the plunge
sloshing around in limbo

that too sweet gospel splash