The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni (17 page)

i know my upper arms will grow

flabby it's true

of all the women in my family

i know that the purple veins

like dead fish in the Seine

will dot my legs one day

and my hands will wither while

my hair turns grayish white         i know that

one day my teeth will move when

my lips smile

and a flutter of hair will appear

below my nose         i hope

my skin doesn't change to those blotchy

colors

i want my menses to be undifficult

i'd very much prefer staying firm and slim

to grow old like a vintage wine fermenting

in old wooden vats with style

i'd like to be exquisite         i think

i will look forward to grandchildren

and my flowers         all my knickknacks in their places

and that quiet of the bombs not falling in cambodia

settling over my sagging breasts

i hope my shoulder finds a head that needs nestling

and my feet find a footstool after a good soaking

with epsom salts

i hope i die

warmed

by the life that i tried

to live

i have all

my mother's habits

i awake in the middle of night

to smoke a cigarette

i have a terrible fear of flying

and i don't like being alone

in the dark

sleep is a sport we all

participate in

it's the scourge of youth

and a necessity of old age

though it only hastens the day

when dissolution is inevitable

i grow tired

like my mother doing without

even one small word

that says i care

and like my mother i shall fade

into my dreams

no longer caring

either

i've noticed i'm happier

when i make love

with you

and have enough left

over to smile at my doorman

i've realized i'm fulfilled

like a big fat cow

who has just picked

for a carnation contentment

when you kiss your special place

right behind my knee

i'm as glad as mortar

on a brick that knows

another brick is coming

when you walk through

my door

most time when you're around

i feel like a note

roberta flack is going to sing

in my mind you're a clock

and i'm the second hand sweeping

around you sixty times an hour

twenty-four hours a day

three hundred sixty-five days a year

and an extra day

in leap year

cause that's the way

that's the way

that's the way i feel

about you

if music is the most universal language

just think of me as one whole note

if science has the most perfect language

picture me as MC2

since mathematics can speak to the infinite

imagine me as 1 to the first power

what i mean is       one day

i'm gonna grab your love

and you'll be

satisfied

i suppose living

in a materialistic society

luxury

to some would be having

more than what you need

living in an electronic age seeing

the whole world by pushing a button

the nth degree might perhaps be

adequately represented by having

someone there to push

the buttons for you

i have thought if only

i could become rich and famous i would

live luxuriously in new york knowing

famous people eating

in expensive restaurants calling

long distance anytime i want

but you held me

one evening and now i know

the ultimate luxury

of your love

like a will-o'-the-wisp in the night

on a honeysuckle breeze

a moment sticks

us together

like a dolphin being

tickled on her stomach

my sea of love flip-flops all

over my face

like the wind blowing

across a field of wheat

your smile whispers to my inner ear

with the relief of recognition

i bend to your eyes

casually

raping me

the birds flew south

earlier this year

and flowers wilted under the glare

of frost

nature puts her house in order

the weather reports say this

will be the coldest winter

already the perch have burrowed

deep into the lakes

and the snails are six instead

of three feet under

i quilted myself

one blanket and purchased five

pounds of colored popcorn

in corners i placed dried

flowers and in my bathroom a jar

of lavender smells

my landlord stripped my windows

and i cut all my old sox for feet pads

they say you should fight the cold with the cold

but since i never do anything right

i called you

poetry is a trestle

spanning the distance between

what i feel

and what i say

like a locomotive

i rush full speed ahead

trusting your strength

to carry me over

sometimes we share a poem

because people are near

and they would notice me

noticing you

so i write X and you write O

and we both win

sometimes we share a poem

because i'm washing the dishes

and you're looking at your news

or sometimes we make a poem

because it's Sunday and you want

ice cream while i want cookies

but always we share a poem

because belief predates action

and i believe

the most beautiful poem

ever heard is your heart

racing

The laws of science teach us a pound of gold weighs as

much as a pound of flour though if dropped from any

undetermined height in their natural state one would

xreach bottom and one would fly away

Laws of motion tell us an inert object is more difficult to

propel than an object heading in the wrong direction is to

turn around. Motion being energy—inertia—apathy.

Apathy equals hostility. Hostility—violence. Violence

being energy is its own virtue. Laws of motion teach us

Black people are no less confused because of our

Blackness than we are diffused because of our

powerlessness. Man we are told is the only animal who

smiles with his lips. The eyes however are the mirror of

the soul

The problem with love is not what we feel but what we

wish we felt when we began to feel we should feel

something. Just as publicity is not production: seduction

is not seductive

If I could make a wish I'd wish for all the knowledge of all

the world. Black may be beautiful Professor Micheau

says but knowledge is power. Any desirable object is

bought and sold—any neglected object declines in value.

It is against man's nature to be in either category

If white defines Black and good defines evil then men

define women or women scientifically speaking describe

men. If sweet is the opposite of sour and heat the

absence of cold then love is the contradiction of pain and

beauty is in the eye of the beheld

Sometimes I want to touch you and be touched in

return. But you think I'm grabbing and I think you're

shirking and Mama always said to look out for men like

you

So I go to the streets with my lips painted red and my

eyes carefully shielded to seduce the world my reluctant

lover

And you go to your men slapping fives feeling good

posing as a man because you know as long as you sit

very very still the laws of motion will be in effect

there is something

to be said for silence

it's almost as sexual as moving

your bowels

i wanted to be in love

when winter came

like a groundhog i would burrow

under the patchwork pieces

of your love

but the threads are slender

and they are being stretched

i guess it's all right

to want to feel

though it's better to really feel

and sometimes i wonder

did i ever love anyone

i like my house my job i gave up

my car

but i bought a new coat

and somewhere something is missing

i do all the right things

maybe i'm just tired

maybe i'm just tired of being tired

i feel sometimes so inert

and laws of motion being what they are

i feel we won't feel again

it's all right with me

if you want to love

it's all right with me if you don't

my silence is at least

as sexy as your love

and twice as easy

to take

i am a teller of tales

a dreamer of dreams

shall i spin a poem around you

human beings grope to strangers

to share a smile

complain to lovers of their woes

and never touch

those who need to be touched

may i move on

the african isn't independent

he's emancipated

and like the freedman he explores

his freedom rather than exploits

his nation

worrying more about the condition

of the women than his position in the world

i am a dreamer of dreams

in my fantasy i see a person

not proud for pride is a collection of lions

or a magazine in washington d.c.

but a person who can be wrong and go on

or a person who can be praised and still work

but a person who can let a friend share a joy as easily

as a friend shares a sorrow

it's odd that all welcome a tale of disappointment

though few a note of satisfaction

have none of us been happy

i am a teller of tales

i see kings and noblemen

slaves and serfs all selling

and being sold for what end

to die for freedom or live for joy

i am a teller of tales

we must believe in each other's dreams

i'm told and i dream

of me accepting you and you accepting yourself

will that stroke the tension

between blacks and africans

i dream of truth lubricating our words

will that ease three hundred years

and i dream of black men and women walking

together side by side into a new world

described by love and bounded by difference

for nothing is the same except oppression and shame

may i spin a poem around you

come let's step into my web

and dream of freedom together

i am old and need

to remember

you are young and need

to learn

if i forget the words

will you remember the music

i hear a drum speaking of a stream

the path is crossing the stream

the stream is crossing the path

which came first the drums ask

the music is with the river

if we meet does it matter

that i took the step toward you

the words ask are you fertile

the music says let's dance

i am old and need to remember

you are young and want to learn

let's dance together

let's dance

together

let's

dance

together

i want to write an image

like a log-cabin quilt pattern

and stretch it across all the lonely

people who just don't fit in

we might make a world

if i do that

i want to boil a stew

with all the leftover folk

whose bodies are full

of empty lives

we might feed a world

if i do that

twice in our lives

we need direction

when we are young and innocent

when we are old and cynical

but since the old refused

to discipline us

we now refuse

to discipline them

which is a contemptuous way

for us to respond

to each other

i'm always surprised

that it's easier to stick

a gun in someone's face

or a knife in someone's back

than to touch skin to skin

anyone whom we like

i should imagine if nature holds true

one day we will lose our hands

since we do no work nor make

any love

if nature is true

we shall all lose our eyes

since we cannot even now distinguish

the good from the evil

i should imagine we shall lose our souls

since we have so blatantly put them up

for sale and glutted the marketplace

thereby depressing the price

i wonder why we don't love

not some people way on

the other side of the world with strange

customs and habits

not some folk from whom we were sold

hundreds of years ago

but people who look like us

who think like us

who want to love us why

don't we love them

i want to make a quilt

of all the patches and find

one long strong pole

to lift it up

i've a mind to build

a new world

want to play