it feels more like
closing your eyes
tight
so tight
the air can’t get in
& the water can’t get out
can you feel the sting?
that’s how it feels
like a forever
sting.
WHEN I’M ON THE BASKETBALL COURT
I ain’t laughed at
I ain’t pointed at
I ain’t forgotten
I ain’t really myself at all
The only place that feel as good as the court
Is when I’m in Clifton’s arms
In his arms I ain’t laughed at
In his arms I ain’t pointed at
In his arms I ain’t forgotten
With Clifton I feel like I’m on the court
My heart is certain
His hands frame my face
Like my hands hold the rock
His lips come to mine
& my heart flutter the same
As when I realize the ball into the air
The net waving a welcome song
Perfect aim
No swish
My first kiss? I Swoon
When I’m on the court.
IT’S TOO HOT TO THINK ABOUT THINKING
I had my first (but third in life) kiss
With Clifton & no one to talk to about it
Lay Li looked at me & I looked back
Like that
Everything is dust
But now that it’s Saturday
& all my chores are done
I have nothing better to do.
I have no one to turn to
I make my way around the corner
Maybe I can play pickup
I bop across the grass &
As soon as my ten toes touch asphalt
all the boys groan
It’s too hot to think about thinking
We play three-on-three
My team ain’t trash but my mind is everywhere.
I miss an assist
I miss my free throw
I’m fouled & I keep quiet.
Not like me.
The sweat pours from my pores
The game of twenty-one is just beginning.
Tyrone & the rest of the boys
from the summer program
let me play but never in peace.
My handles
I swerve
Ankles intact
Don’t travel
Dribble
Dribble
Pump fake
Tyrone falls for it
Swings his arms for the story
No glory
Just a clean shot
Look at my elbow
Ain’t it just a shelf for a bottle of your tears
Score
Tyrone fouls me again
This time I’m fouled & I am foul.
I point my finger at his basketball shorts
Call his game as raggedy as his clothes
THE ASPHALT IS HOT ON MY SNEAKERS
but it’s too hot to think
& I can’t care about them stupid boys not wanting me to play
Cause they can’t beat me.
That’s why they mad
That’s why Tyrone suck his teeth
That’s why he pushes me when I get the ball in my possession.
But I still talk tough
Just like Inga taught me
My mouth so mine
It cut rocks into pebbles
It cut glass into shatter
It cut metal into sharp silver slices
I even talk smack to Coach Willie
When I’m on the court it’s different
The rules are different
& ain’t no jail
& no Mama to worry about disappointing
I am my own on the blacktop
But the blacktop ain’t where folks keep their feelings
So when Tyrone pushed me into the closet last year
& Coach Willie let him
I realize a girl’s mouth is a weapon
I realize the game is fixed
When I play ball, they say my mouth too big
Coach Willie, our summer camp counselor,
Say “I got the nerve to talk like a boy”
He say I ain’t supposed to say them things.
Not with my girl mouth
& I was almost surprised
Cause I ain’t said nothing that they haven’t already said to me.
& with all my tough talk, I still don’t talk about nobody’s mama
Cause Tyrone’s mama reminds me of my uncle
Sick on that stuff
& I don’t talk about his daddy neither
Cause his daddy gone just like mines.
Instead
I say “Your handles is trash!”
& really, that’s only a fact.
TYRONE MAD CAUSE IT’S TRUE
His face turns dark around the eyes
His lips purse into a curse word
& he pushes me against the backboard bar
& he pushes my head
& he tries to take the ball out my hands.
But I already told you
I’m too quick
I know how to deal with these kind of boys
The kind that don’t keep they hands to themselves.
I pivot fast on my right
I drop my hip & push all my weight on the same heel