All I could do to keep my snake out of sight
in my pants when she comes down the stairs
to say hello, Juan, you drop by for breakfast?
She’s wearing this see-through negligee,
what am I to do but gawk like a simpleton
who the more women he has the more he wants,
and say Yes, Ma’am, I sure would delight
in your delicious cooking and brew,
and she rustles up some grub as they say west
of here, Betsy turning her beautiful butt
to blind me as the sun her body eclipsed
gleams through the open window over her head.
We eat together and go upstairs to fuck,
and fuck we do, and she says she missed me
and I tell her I’ve been busy, but not with whom,
she would never catalog her johns
and, besides, why should I care, I’m full
and spent between this lovely blonde’s legs,
so full of myself I half-expect to fall
to the floor and roll around in ecstasy
but when she’s eaten she goes under the table
and you can only guess what she does down there,
I’ve already told you more than I planned
and here I am in my mama’s house. It’s noon.
Betsy takes me for a walk, she says I work
too much and this is New Orleans,
not some open pit to harvest coal . . .
No, she doesn’t say that, I think it
and keep it to myself. It’s about my dad,
what he did before the army took him up
on his patriotic spirit, had him killed,
and freed his widow and four children
to move around from Honolulu
to Mexico, where you loved all the colors,
the lilt in the voices, the women, their
sensuality the way of hot weather.
And so I met Manuela Roma, her laugh
as generous as her quiet aplomb,
her fierce insistence that freedom live up
to its name, fading letters carved in a wall
in a language no one could read anymore,
and was there when Reynolds took the rap
and was stashed in Lecumberri where
rats outnumber prisoners and eat their food,
who wants the shit? all it does is make you wretch
and more than empty you get ready to sleep
by getting punched front and back and kicked
until you fall on your knees taking the chair
down with you tied securely back to back
and now the day comes they put you on a plane
and that’s all she can tell me in a letter
I lose in the snow walking with peyote
who is not an animal but a daemon,
not demon, you know how wildness is not cruel,
how to tell one from the other to choose
a companion or an enemy,
the way to the heart or getting lost
like Manuela Roma’s letter I never found,
like the fate of one who never loses heart,
banking her fires, faking love for a living.
(3 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Into the Day
He couldn’t help but wonder if Ira
understood her, or did he even try?
He asked her. How would I know? I did all
I could to make and keep Ira happy,
I never tried to climb into his head
or ask what I wouldn’t want to be asked,
so how could I know, I only loved him
and he loved me too. We were two flowers
on the same stem with two different roots.
Can’t you see? He let me do my gris-gris,
And I left him alone to play his horn.
How did I know his kin would take his place
until you got here and in bed with me . . .
Juan–who wanted to call himself Johnny
after Patsy Rose started it back up–
listened. Did you tell Patsy Rose that I
was rolling and tumbling with you in bed?
he wanted to ask, but he thought better
and heard her go over the same ground
again, how Ira and she were like this . . .
Until he asked, Do you want me to go?
She: Land sakes alive, honey, why would I want that!
He: Would a tape recorder be better?
She: Why bother? Why don’t you just love me
like you do, if I have something to tell
you’ll be the only one who ever hears.
Now, I have much to do and so do you,
so make love with me again, then go see
the sun shine to make the lake water bright . . .
and they did. And he walked into the day.
(3 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
understood her, or did he even try?
He asked her. How would I know? I did all
I could to make and keep Ira happy,
I never tried to climb into his head
or ask what I wouldn’t want to be asked,
so how could I know, I only loved him
and he loved me too. We were two flowers
on the same stem with two different roots.
Can’t you see? He let me do my gris-gris,
And I left him alone to play his horn.
How did I know his kin would take his place
until you got here and in bed with me . . .
Juan–who wanted to call himself Johnny
after Patsy Rose started it back up–
listened. Did you tell Patsy Rose that I
was rolling and tumbling with you in bed?
he wanted to ask, but he thought better
and heard her go over the same ground
again, how Ira and she were like this . . .
Until he asked, Do you want me to go?
She: Land sakes alive, honey, why would I want that!
He: Would a tape recorder be better?
She: Why bother? Why don’t you just love me
like you do, if I have something to tell
you’ll be the only one who ever hears.
Now, I have much to do and so do you,
so make love with me again, then go see
the sun shine to make the lake water bright . . .
and they did. And he walked into the day.
(3 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Juan Has His Cards Read
This woman Juan knows with her thick red hair,
long red fingernails and eyes like an owl’s,
an old flame of Ray’s, tells Juan to come in
her shop next door to The Saloon and sit
a spell. Would you like your cards read, Johnny?
She’s the only one calls him by the name
he answered to for twenty years between
the Pacific and the Vietnam wars,
twenty years mother Nell was a widow,
until after no time at all, it seemed,
following remarriage was widowed twice,
came here and worked at a job she enjoyed,
made it to the top, and all that time went
faithfully to this courtyard on Bourbon
where Patsy Rose read your cards for little
more than a tip if she called you her friend.
She shuffled and cut and spread them wide,
found the answer to the question he’d asked,
and told him he was due to change his life
as soon as he completed the project
named by the card hidden by the top one,
The Fool, with his dog, both of them carefree
and The World on the top, the best reading
she had seen lately considering how
times were so hard a crust lay on the air.
He told Patsy Rose what he was doing.
She knew Adore. All us magic women,
she said, break bread together and drink wine.
He didn’t tell her where he was sleeping
other than mentioning the HOT HOTEL,
the E and L burned out so long ago
not even Patsy Rose knew they were gone.
All I do there, he said, is write all night,
sleep half the day, work a half shift until
I find my way back to the hermitage,
I call it . . . She wanted to laugh. She knew
what he wasn’t saying he should have told
his mother’s and his newfound lover’s friend.
Now Johnny, you go easy on your own
sweet self and come to see me more often,
we’re like family and family’s got
to stay close. Don’t get so busy you can’t
find time to drop by and see Patsy Rose.
He gave her a bill. They kissed at the door.
She was a right fine woman for her age.
That night he eighty-sixed drunken tourists
he could roll like a barrel out the door
if they believed this was Niagara Falls,
its cataract the hubbub in the street.
He walked to Adore’s and showed her the words
meant to be her own. She said, Come sit here
and patted the bed where she’d been sleeping.
She read all three. She studied quietly
the night through the window, an owl’s soft hoot . . .
She put her hand on his. She said, I know
you can’t help but want to write all this down,
put yourself in my skin, but honey, can’t
you see? I’m too black and my blues too old
for my handsome young white lover to know.
She undressed him then and they made their love.
(2 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
long red fingernails and eyes like an owl’s,
an old flame of Ray’s, tells Juan to come in
her shop next door to The Saloon and sit
a spell. Would you like your cards read, Johnny?
She’s the only one calls him by the name
he answered to for twenty years between
the Pacific and the Vietnam wars,
twenty years mother Nell was a widow,
until after no time at all, it seemed,
following remarriage was widowed twice,
came here and worked at a job she enjoyed,
made it to the top, and all that time went
faithfully to this courtyard on Bourbon
where Patsy Rose read your cards for little
more than a tip if she called you her friend.
She shuffled and cut and spread them wide,
found the answer to the question he’d asked,
and told him he was due to change his life
as soon as he completed the project
named by the card hidden by the top one,
The Fool, with his dog, both of them carefree
and The World on the top, the best reading
she had seen lately considering how
times were so hard a crust lay on the air.
He told Patsy Rose what he was doing.
She knew Adore. All us magic women,
she said, break bread together and drink wine.
He didn’t tell her where he was sleeping
other than mentioning the HOT HOTEL,
the E and L burned out so long ago
not even Patsy Rose knew they were gone.
All I do there, he said, is write all night,
sleep half the day, work a half shift until
I find my way back to the hermitage,
I call it . . . She wanted to laugh. She knew
what he wasn’t saying he should have told
his mother’s and his newfound lover’s friend.
Now Johnny, you go easy on your own
sweet self and come to see me more often,
we’re like family and family’s got
to stay close. Don’t get so busy you can’t
find time to drop by and see Patsy Rose.
He gave her a bill. They kissed at the door.
She was a right fine woman for her age.
That night he eighty-sixed drunken tourists
he could roll like a barrel out the door
if they believed this was Niagara Falls,
its cataract the hubbub in the street.
He walked to Adore’s and showed her the words
meant to be her own. She said, Come sit here
and patted the bed where she’d been sleeping.
She read all three. She studied quietly
the night through the window, an owl’s soft hoot . . .
She put her hand on his. She said, I know
you can’t help but want to write all this down,
put yourself in my skin, but honey, can’t
you see? I’m too black and my blues too old
for my handsome young white lover to know.
She undressed him then and they made their love.
(2 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
The Paths Home
So how old was I then and how long had I known the house was here . . .
I took the bird inside when dark arrived, and its little wings fluttered
but didn’t fly. I said to hell with superstition, my mama had something
better, ju-ju, gris-gris, I didn’t know what it was but she made things
come true. When it got light I’d go home, it would be a good day to walk
hungry enough to set a fair pace and come in her door in time to set
the table and serve her gumbo I knew how to do and did I do it well!
I happened to find some wire and made a cage from sticks I gathered
and now the bird had a way to travel with me, and dios mio, was I happy!
I woke and immediately told the house I would come back soon, so stay.
No sounds from the creatures . . . I went to the water to wash out my eyes
and left the grass alone, picked up the little cage with the little bird inside
and little by little, it seemed to me, I wound my way along winding paths
to get home by the time I knew I would to do what mama usually did . . .
(2 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
I took the bird inside when dark arrived, and its little wings fluttered
but didn’t fly. I said to hell with superstition, my mama had something
better, ju-ju, gris-gris, I didn’t know what it was but she made things
come true. When it got light I’d go home, it would be a good day to walk
hungry enough to set a fair pace and come in her door in time to set
the table and serve her gumbo I knew how to do and did I do it well!
I happened to find some wire and made a cage from sticks I gathered
and now the bird had a way to travel with me, and dios mio, was I happy!
I woke and immediately told the house I would come back soon, so stay.
No sounds from the creatures . . . I went to the water to wash out my eyes
and left the grass alone, picked up the little cage with the little bird inside
and little by little, it seemed to me, I wound my way along winding paths
to get home by the time I knew I would to do what mama usually did . . .
(2 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
Bird
I knew so little I looked at nothing in the mirror then.
There was no mirror in that house, nor had there been.
No shards of glass lying on the floor I swear would talk
each step you took, and out one door and into the other
is how I went, walking or running, my children’s voices,
my own, going along happily with my feet through dirt
and grass and swamp water smelling like whatever was
newborn here, most likely the bird I found in the grass
and took to the house but I knew better than take it in.
I knew enough to leave the sounds alone, I feared them
when I could no longer love them, yet I was so hungry
I pulled up grass and lay the bird in a nest I wove myself
and ate the rest, shaking the roots clean, and wandered
down there, darkness hours off now I was here at home.
(2 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
There was no mirror in that house, nor had there been.
No shards of glass lying on the floor I swear would talk
each step you took, and out one door and into the other
is how I went, walking or running, my children’s voices,
my own, going along happily with my feet through dirt
and grass and swamp water smelling like whatever was
newborn here, most likely the bird I found in the grass
and took to the house but I knew better than take it in.
I knew enough to leave the sounds alone, I feared them
when I could no longer love them, yet I was so hungry
I pulled up grass and lay the bird in a nest I wove myself
and ate the rest, shaking the roots clean, and wandered
down there, darkness hours off now I was here at home.
(2 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
House of the Beloved
. . . one day I was tired and hungry I must have walked across New Orleans
in a daze, not seeing with my eyes but only looking inside as far as I could,
stumbling sometimes and like to have fallen in the water when I was near,
but I kept my balance and went wherever my feet took me, I wanted to be
alive, finally, alive . . . and where do you go to be alive but to the bayou,
and there was the old house abandoned since before I’d been born, I was six,
my mama was working the charms with someone, I don’t know them then,
I’m too young, and inside the house were the same rays of light shining down
through the dust dancing by the window, and I slept. I woke at dark,
that’s when I heard the sound I have heard so many times since then,
I already told you about being sixteen when they came and not long after
I was first with a man. Mostly I was in love with this house. The creatures
living there were my lovers. The charms mean nothing if you can’t love
as strong as you can whatever you find to love and keep on loving well . . .
(2 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
in a daze, not seeing with my eyes but only looking inside as far as I could,
stumbling sometimes and like to have fallen in the water when I was near,
but I kept my balance and went wherever my feet took me, I wanted to be
alive, finally, alive . . . and where do you go to be alive but to the bayou,
and there was the old house abandoned since before I’d been born, I was six,
my mama was working the charms with someone, I don’t know them then,
I’m too young, and inside the house were the same rays of light shining down
through the dust dancing by the window, and I slept. I woke at dark,
that’s when I heard the sound I have heard so many times since then,
I already told you about being sixteen when they came and not long after
I was first with a man. Mostly I was in love with this house. The creatures
living there were my lovers. The charms mean nothing if you can’t love
as strong as you can whatever you find to love and keep on loving well . . .
(2 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
In Daylight and Nighttime
He could use a HOT HOTEL all his own.
No distractions here. It took him all night
to do what little he had to show
Adore. He found this little place to eat
hominy grits prepared the way he liked
beside his usual eggs over easy.
He knew he should go by and see Big John
so he could tell Rocky he had done so,
but too early for coming down so fast
he sat drinking chicory and thinking
he should go see Ray to tell him the night
went well at The Saloon, but that could wait.
Or maybe he should get his ashes hauled . . .
He had no stomach for a whorehouse run,
Paolo could have his part of the action.
Back in HOT HOTEL he read it over,
made a few changes, and put it aside,
started writing something he knew was her.
But kept coming back to what he had here
already. He couldn’t stop tinkering.
Later he’d show Adore what he had done,
She’d tell him straight out if he’d done it well.
Then slept, woke just in time to get to work.
Ray was waiting until he came to leave,
said there would be more tourists tonight,
did he think he could handle it himself . . .
The kid came by and said Adore was gone
when he knocked on her door. He didn’t go
inside. He knew better. There would be hell
to pay if that happened, she would wake up
and see him there and that would be the end
for him on the day bed. The kid complained
and Juan asked him if her walker was there,
the kid said he didn’t know, he’d go back
and check. The tourists started arriving
and throwing them back, asking for a drink
to replace the one they had before it
was gone. The men got more belligerent,
the women sloppier, the more they drank.
He’d never had to cut anyone off
till now, but the time was here and he had
to do it twice. When the hour came around
he was glad to hear the kid say Adore
had just gone for a walk in the alley.
Juan said he would look in on her tonight.
He gathered his papers in HOT HOTEL
and went the back way, was in a hurry
to see her, have her read and let him know
what she thought. He was walking a dark street.
A good way to get mugged, he better watch
his step. That was why many folks kept out
of The Big Easy, they would know someone
who’d had a knife held to their throat and robbed,
or felt a gun barrel against their ribs,
had to lie face down while they lost it all
–and in every case they cut their time short,
returned home, where they would be waited on
like the royalty they were in their homes,
the butler bowing, the maid curtseying,
or so they saw the slightest deference . . .
He walked by the bar where the voices vied
with the music to be heard. He stopped in
to ask the bartender to keep it down,
his family wanted to sleep down where
he gestured, leaving only when order
was restored, glad to be back with Adore.
She sat up in bed in her kimono
and beckoned him to come to bed with her.
I have got something for you to read first.
Handed it over. Didn’t oh and ahh
reading it slowly, letting it surprise her
and make her sigh with a hmm or an eye
suddenly looking up at him and then
just as quickly returning to the page.
She took a long time to read it. Then read
again, out loud but more under her breath
than to him. She said, Where did you get this?
I didn’t tell you this, why did you make
me do what you had no way to know?
This is how I sound when I think of it.
You learn good, Juan. But I don’t understand
everything, at least not how you did this
so I can see myself back there again . . .
It wasn’t all praise. She didn’t go back
to be loved two times during the same night.
He confessed he was trying to make it
seem like she had to have it all her way . . .
She held out both arms: Come give me sugar!
(1 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
No distractions here. It took him all night
to do what little he had to show
Adore. He found this little place to eat
hominy grits prepared the way he liked
beside his usual eggs over easy.
He knew he should go by and see Big John
so he could tell Rocky he had done so,
but too early for coming down so fast
he sat drinking chicory and thinking
he should go see Ray to tell him the night
went well at The Saloon, but that could wait.
Or maybe he should get his ashes hauled . . .
He had no stomach for a whorehouse run,
Paolo could have his part of the action.
Back in HOT HOTEL he read it over,
made a few changes, and put it aside,
started writing something he knew was her.
But kept coming back to what he had here
already. He couldn’t stop tinkering.
Later he’d show Adore what he had done,
She’d tell him straight out if he’d done it well.
Then slept, woke just in time to get to work.
Ray was waiting until he came to leave,
said there would be more tourists tonight,
did he think he could handle it himself . . .
The kid came by and said Adore was gone
when he knocked on her door. He didn’t go
inside. He knew better. There would be hell
to pay if that happened, she would wake up
and see him there and that would be the end
for him on the day bed. The kid complained
and Juan asked him if her walker was there,
the kid said he didn’t know, he’d go back
and check. The tourists started arriving
and throwing them back, asking for a drink
to replace the one they had before it
was gone. The men got more belligerent,
the women sloppier, the more they drank.
He’d never had to cut anyone off
till now, but the time was here and he had
to do it twice. When the hour came around
he was glad to hear the kid say Adore
had just gone for a walk in the alley.
Juan said he would look in on her tonight.
He gathered his papers in HOT HOTEL
and went the back way, was in a hurry
to see her, have her read and let him know
what she thought. He was walking a dark street.
A good way to get mugged, he better watch
his step. That was why many folks kept out
of The Big Easy, they would know someone
who’d had a knife held to their throat and robbed,
or felt a gun barrel against their ribs,
had to lie face down while they lost it all
–and in every case they cut their time short,
returned home, where they would be waited on
like the royalty they were in their homes,
the butler bowing, the maid curtseying,
or so they saw the slightest deference . . .
He walked by the bar where the voices vied
with the music to be heard. He stopped in
to ask the bartender to keep it down,
his family wanted to sleep down where
he gestured, leaving only when order
was restored, glad to be back with Adore.
She sat up in bed in her kimono
and beckoned him to come to bed with her.
I have got something for you to read first.
Handed it over. Didn’t oh and ahh
reading it slowly, letting it surprise her
and make her sigh with a hmm or an eye
suddenly looking up at him and then
just as quickly returning to the page.
She took a long time to read it. Then read
again, out loud but more under her breath
than to him. She said, Where did you get this?
I didn’t tell you this, why did you make
me do what you had no way to know?
This is how I sound when I think of it.
You learn good, Juan. But I don’t understand
everything, at least not how you did this
so I can see myself back there again . . .
It wasn’t all praise. She didn’t go back
to be loved two times during the same night.
He confessed he was trying to make it
seem like she had to have it all her way . . .
She held out both arms: Come give me sugar!
(1 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
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