The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni (15 page)

when i die i hope no one who ever hurt me cries

and if they cry i hope their eyes fall out

and a million maggots that had made up their brains

crawl from the empty holes and devour the flesh

that covered the evil that passed itself off as a person

that i probably tried

to love

when i die i hope every worker in the national security council

the interpol the fbicia foundation for the development

of black women gets

an extra bonus and maybe takes one day off

and maybe even asks why they didn't work as hard for us as they did

them

but it always seems to be that way

please don't let them read “nikki-roasa” maybe just let

some black woman who called herself my friend go around and collect

each and every book and let some black man who said it was

negative of me to want him to be a man collect every picture

and poster and let them burn—throw acid on them—shit on them as

they did me while i tried

to live

and as soon as i die i hope everyone who loved me learns

the meaning

of my death which is a simple lesson

don't do what you do very well very well and enjoy it

it scares white folk

and makes black ones truly mad

but i do hope someone tells my son

his mother liked little old ladies with

their blue dresses and hats and gloves that sitting

by the window

to watch the dawn come up is valid that smiling at an old man

and petting a dog don't detract from manhood

do

somebody please

tell him i knew all along that what would be

is what will be but i wanted to be a new person

and my rebirth was stifled not by the master

but the slave

and if ever i touched a life i hope that life knows

that i know that touching was and still is and will always be the true

revolution

one ounce of truth benefits

like ripples on a pond

one ounce of truth benefits like a ripple

on a pond

one ounce of truth

benefits like ripples on

a pond

as things change remember my smile

the old man said my time is getting near

the old man said my time

is getting near

he looked at his dusty cracked boots to say

sister my time is getting near

and when i'm gone remember i smiled

when i'm gone remember

i smiled

i'm glad my time is getting there

the baby cried wanting some milk

the baby cried needing some milk

the baby he cried for wanting

his mother kissed him gently

when i came they sang a song

when i was born they sang a song

when i was saved they sang a song

remember i smiled when i'm gone

remember i smiled when i'm gone

sing a good song when i'm gone

we ain't got long to stay

i have built my tower on the wings of a spider

spinning slippery daydreams of paperdoll fantasies

i built my tower on the beak of a dove

pecking peace to a needing woman

i have built my dreams on the love of a man

holding a nation in his palm asking me the time of day

i built my castle by the shore thinking

i was an oyster clammed shut forever

when this tiny grain i hardly noticed

crept inside and i spit around

and spit around and spun a universe inside

with a black pearl of immeasurable worth

that only i could spin around

i have borne a nation on my heart

and my strength shall not be my undoing

cause this castle didn't crumble

and losing my pearl made me gain

and the dove flew with the olive branch by harriet's route

to my breast and nestled close and said “you are mine”

and i was full and complete while emptying my wombs

and the sea ebbed ohhhhhhhhh

what a pretty little baby

we are all imprisoned
in the castle of our skins

and some of us have said so be it

if i am in jail my castle shall become

my rendezvous

my courtyard will bloom with hyacinths and jack-in-the pulpits

my moat will not restrict me but will be filled

with dolphins sitting on lily pads and sea horses ridden by starfish

goldfish will make love

to Black mollies and color my world Black Gold

the vines entwining my windows will grow butterflies

and yellow jackets will buzz me to sleep

the dwarfs imprisoned will not become my clowns

for me to scorn but my dolls for me to praise and fuss

with and give tea parties to

my gnomes will spin cloth of spider web silkness

my wounded chocolate soldiers will sit in evening coolness

or stand gloriously at attention during that midnight sun

for i would have no need of day patrol

if i am imprisoned in my skin let it be a dark world

with a deep bass walking a witch doctor to me for spiritual

consultation

let my world be defined by my skin and the skin of my people

for we      spirit to spirit      will embrace

this world

on the bite of a kola nut

i was so high the clouds blanketing africa

in the mid morning flight were pushed

away in an angry flicker

of the sun's tongue

a young lioness sat smoking a pipe

while her cubs waved up at the plane

look ida i called a lion waving

but she said there are no lions

in this part of africa

it's my dream dammit i mumbled

but my grandmother stood up

from her rocker just then

and said you call it

like you see it

john brown and i are with you

and i sat back for my morning

coffee

we landed in accra and the people

clapped and i almost cried wake up

we're home

and something in me said shout

and something else said quietly

your mother may be glad to see you

but she may also remember why

you went away

africa is a young man bathing

in the back of a prison fortress

the guide said “are you afro-american

cape coast castle holds a lot for your people”

and the 18th century clock keeps perfect

time for the time it has

i watched his black skin turn foaming

white and wanted to see this magnificent

man stand naked and clean before me

but they called me to the dungeons where above

the christian church an african stood listening

for sounds of revolt

the lock the guide stated indicated a major once ran

the fort and the british he said had recently demanded

the lock's return

and i wanted the lock maybe for a door

stop to unstop the 18th century clock

“and there is one African buried

here        we are proud of him” he said

and i screamed NO there are thousands

but my voice was lost in the room

of the women with the secret passageway

leading to the governor's quarters

so roberta flack recorded a song

and les mccann cried but

a young african man on the rock

outside the prison where my people were

born bathed in the sunlight

and africa is a baby to be

tossed about and disciplined and loved

and neglected and bitten on its bottom

as i wanted to

sink my teeth into his thigh

and tell him he would never be

clean until he can

possess me

they clapped when we landed

thinking africa was just an extension

of the black world

they smiled as we taxied home to be met

black to black face not understanding africans lack

color prejudice

they rushed to declare

cigarettes, money, allegiance to the mother land

not knowing despite having read fanon and davenport

hearing all of j.h. clarke's lectures, supporting

nkrumah in ghana and nigeria in the war that there was once

a tribe called afro-americans that populated the whole

of africa

they stopped running when they learned the packages

on the women's heads were heavy and that babies didn't

cry and disease is uncomfortable and that villages are fun

only because you knew the feel of good leather on good

pavement

they cried when they saw mercedes benz were as common

in lagos as volkswagens are in berlin

they shook their heads when they understood there was no

difference between the french and the english and the americans

and the afro-americans or the tribe next door or the country

across the border

they were exasperated when they heard sly and the family stone

in francophone africa and they finally smiled when little boys

who spoke no western tongue said “james brown” with reverence

they brought out their cameras and bought out africa's drums

when they finally realized they are strangers all over

and love is only and always about the lover not the beloved

they marveled at the beauty of the people and the richness

of the land knowing they could never possess either

they clapped when they took off

for home despite the dead

dream they saw a free future

thinning hair

estee laudered

deliberate sentences

chubby hands

glasses resting atop ample softness

dresses too long

beaded down

elbow length gloves       funny hats

ready smiles

diamond rings

hopeful questions

needing to be needed

my ladies over fifty

who birthed and nursed

my Blackness

in an age of napalmed children

with words like
the enemy is whatever moves

as an excuse for killing vietnamese infants

at a time when one president one nobel prize winner

one president's brother four to six white students

dozens of Black students and various hippies

would be corralled maimed and killed

in a day where the c.i.a. could hire Black hands to pull

the trigger on malcolm

during a decade that saw eight nurses in chicago

sixteen people at the university of texas along with

the boston strangler do a fantastic death

dance matched only by the murders of john coltrane

sonny liston jimi hendrixs and janis joplin

in a technological structure where featherstone

and che would be old-fashioned bombed

at a moment when agnew could define hard and soft

drugs on the basis of his daughter's involvement

with them

in a nation where eugene robinson could testify

against his own panther recruits and eldridge cleaver

could expel a martyr from that martyr's creation

where the president who at least knows

the law would say manson who at least tried

is guilty

it is only natural that joe frazier

would emerge

a bright sun flower yellow tiger

was at my bedroom door teeth bared ready to pounce

when the child cried “the bear is gonna get me!”

and i completely understood cause i had to really

wake up fast to keep that tiger back

nothing is real especially

tones i heard

a rumbling and thought

the world was coming

to an end

and saw my body blown to bits and crushed under

the rubbish that had been the 100th street apartment

complex my guppies struggled for one last breath

and my turtle        head hidden in his shell        never

to fuss again at me for not cleaning him

the blinding light started in the 96th street subway

and quickly swept up to my house melting my flesh

into the cactus plant at my bedside and as my hand blended

into a thorn i wondered what it would be like to never

hold anyone again

what never was cannot be

though it engulfed me and i cried

“what always is        is not the answer!”

they came from all over the world in planes

in boats and dirigibles

on kites and pollen seeds riding bikes

and horses bare back on electric roller skates

and lionel trains all carrying an instrument to play

or blow and bleat and the sound called all the carnivores

from all over the world the aardwolf and the puma playing

the talking drum even the snow leopard with a long thin

hollowed ice flute came from his himalayan retreat

and all the snakes over ten feet long slithered through

the heavy traffic to my house to play a mass

and through the altos and basses and your condescending

attitude aretha started a low moan

the outline of a face on a picture isn't really

a face or an image of a face but the idea of an image

of a dream that once was dreamed by some artist

who never knew how much more real is a dream than reality

so julian bond was elected president and rap brown chief

justice of the supreme court and nixon sold himself

on 42nd street for a package of winstons

(with the down home taste) and our man on the moon said

alleluia

and we all raised our right fist in the power sign

and the earth was thrown off course and crashed into the sun

but since we never recognize the sun

we went right on to work in our factories

and offices and laundry mats and record shops

the next morning and only the children

and a few poets knew

that a change had come