Two Poems

Juleps

When he said we were going to South Carolina,
my mind filled with pictures
of Scarlett and Rhett...
sipping mint juleps in bone china cups
                  no cracks or chips on the rims.
The sun would shine on white wrought tables
set on a lawn of forest green,
                  evenly cut with no weeds.
Magnolias flavoring the air.
                  My hair would be set in ringlet curls
by a tiny woman with ancient hands,
ribbons hanging to caress bare shoulders
above a white ruffled dress trimmed in lavender lace.
                  A verandah would defy gravity,
hang in the air a story over red tile,
a platform jutting from white washed walls
like a forlorn lower lip,
pale green shutters flapping like eye lashes.

We drove all day, through night,
the image solidifying in my head,
intestines churning in anticipation
of solid illusions
until exhaustion finally closed my eyes.

I woke to
ancient slave shacks in rows,
twelve people living in three rooms,
cockroaches as big as my palm.
A corner away the Projects
fill the night with shots, sirens, screams, and
tiny eyes fearful of looking out.

I laughed at what I'd dreamed.
Yet, vowed to return,
find that whitewashed house
where my dress will be spread out on the bed,
pressed and waiting...

but I never l have tasted
Mint Juleps.

---

New View

Bright blue blades of grass
reach up to orange clouds
floating in the purple sky sea,
their tiny hands wave
in scarlet breezes.

The sidewalk cracks glow yellow,
caverns the people jump with ease,
flapping their elephant ears to be airborne.

Green squirrels scurry up pink trees,
chatter to day-glo butterflies
that hurt my eyes.

I put on my rose glasses
and watch the world
fade to black.