ON THE COUCH

"Because sometimes a woman needs to be alone with her thoughts" ~ Jaha Zainabu

I am alone with my thoughts
shaking them loose from my tendencies 
to make the worst assumptions 
about what's going on around
me, even when the worst is going on around me
The neck pain of worry
the eyes that cannot close easy
I'm folding over like the wet towel
crumpled, not neatly arranged 
for this moment... the jumble of it all
presses against my spine
against my resolve
I'm not sure of anything
in this right now, which 
is probably crazy since I've
been assured today that I have
nothing to worry about

so why in this moment, 
alone with my thoughts
is worry sitting on the couch
next to me?

© Valerie Bridgeman

June 30, 2013

500

Kimberly Lagayle McCarthy, 52
Number 500 of Texas death-row inmates
Killed by state-sanctioned lethal injection
since 1982, the lusting for death penalty
renewed and made possible
she deserved it, they said. At least they
knew on June 26, 2013 that she
had "done the deed" sixteen
years earlier: in a crack-induced
rage, fiending she killed
a 71-year-old retired professor
It was brutal, unforgiving
A butcher knife
a candelabra
stab/beat/stab/beat
then used the crimson-filled blade
to sever her left ring finger
and take the wedding band
there is no doubt--she did it
it was brutal, maybe evil
crack-induced rage as it was
Right before they gave her 
the last drug she could fiend,
she had the state-ordered meal:
pepper steak, mash potatoes with gravy, 
mixed vegetables, 
white cake with chocolate icing
Maybe she's not the case
to ask Texas why they've
killed more people since 1986
than the next 6 states
combined, why Texas has
a death lust, why the state
can't be more creative in building
a more perfect union than
killing its citizens--some proven
"not guilty," but that doesn't 
bother Governor Rick Perry who says:
I never lose a bit of sleep over it.
And what kind of person
doesn't lose sleep over death
laid at their feet? Who sleeps easy
with that smell in their nostril?
What kind of crazy easy is that?
How you eat steak/potatoes with gravy
and top it off with cake 500 times
and not even blink?

© Valerie Bridgeman

June 29, 2013

ANNIVERSARY

For my first D.A.D.

Today would have been 34 years
had we been able to keep covenant

we stopped 5 years ago, but really
I think we stopped and started
many times over the years. 

I honor the years,
the making a home, the raising children,
the leading a congregation, the fights,
the disappointments, the long conversations
about sports and politics, about religion
and sex

I honor that we knew one another
that we know each other; that you hold
a part of my history--30 years of it, really
29 of it married. So much went wrong
but if we tell the truth, so much
went right too. 

I don't want the end of it make me 
rewrite the "right" of it. 

If nothing else, I walked away
with some great family, sisters and brothers
nieces and nephews who continue
to love me and I them. 

And you seem--finally--content with who you are,
not torn on the inside. I'm glad
for you about that. So happy
anniversary of the day we said
"forever" even if we couldn't keep
the promise. 

I would lie if I said I
have no regrets... I have plenty.
But leaving isn't one of them--
not because I don't love you
or didn't: I do, honestly.
But it was the end of a thing
that were in the throes
of becoming bitter instead
of better. 

We both deserved
better than that. And so we
chose love... leaving being
the best sign of it.
I love you today. I wish you
all the best. I pray for you
constantly. I hope you do the same
for me. 

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 28, 2013

MORNING MEDITATION

I awakened this morning in prayer and meditation, really thinking about how irritated and upset I got yesterday. I usually let it slide. I usually just roll my eyes and let it roll off my back. I usually don't let it get to me. I usually try to continue to lovingly engage and stay on task. I usually don't "stoop to the level" (to use the antagonist's words). Usually. Yesterday was not "usual." Yesterday I was just tired of the way people act as if folk who have degrees also have no feelings or humanity. Sick of it. And really: most of the scholar-activists I know are NOT maternalistic/paternalistic. They are (many of them) one or two degrees or jobs away from the 'hood. Most of the ones I know are fierce and still deeply connected with their cousins and kin who don't have education. We still code switch. We still wobble with it and I suppose some people twerk (can't get with you there). Yeah, I know. People like the trope that people have education, but no common sense. But really, your one or two exception does not a class of people make. I know mighty few educated fools with no common sense. Mighty few, especially among Blacks who've come by way of people selling chicken dinners to help them through college. You can't be in academia and last as a fool. It's dangerous water for people of color, even in historically HBCUs. But I don't like anyone being picked on which is why I rarely (not perfect, here) laugh at jokes told at others' expense. Yesterday found me at the nexus of frustration. So I woke up praying for me and all the people I know who suffer this foolishness on a regular basis. I also prayed for the people who perpetrate it. I wonder if it's possible to have a community of wolf-lamb laying down (and I am not presuming who is the wolf or who's the lamb in that statement). I'm smarter than a lot of people about a lot of things. But gangstas taught me the streets and how to survive if necessary. I'm not a doctor of medicine, so don't expect a diagnosis of that sort. All of that to say, I do repent only for the "I'm smarter than you" statement. We all have our smarts... (though some 'smarts' are more destructive than others from where I sit). I enter this day with the words of an Elder/Sage on my heart. She sent them to me just as I came up from meditation. She said: "I learned a long time ago not to fight with bitter, angry, evil, ignorant, otherwise ugly people because they have nothing to lose. Some peoples' head is a pit full of snakes, worms, lizards, and other creepy things. I love [them] but I don't let them get close to me." Those words have given me life today.

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 28, 2013

DEAR RACHEL JEANTEL

Dear Rachel (Jeantel),

I said I wouldn't watch this trial because I knew it would trigger me. And, honestly, until I saw you and heard the condescending tone in the voice of the Prosecutor, who put you on the stand to tell Trayvon's side of the story, I wasn't. But I looked at you. Stared, even. I saw the combative bravada of a very scared young woman. A beautiful, dark-skinned, big woman-child. This trial comes in the same time that Oprah Winfrey's Network is running a documentary called "Dark Girls." And so your presence is a living example of the living examples in the documentary. I've been sick reading twitter and Facebook, listening to people call you all manner of things that denigrate and diminish your very self. The mother in me wants to take you in my arms and rock you. The big sister in me wants to start a fight on your behalf and take out anyone that talks badly about you. I am ashamed of some black folk right now. I admit, I expect it from some white ones. And that's a shame right there. I just really want you to know that you're not alone out here. Several of us: Brittney, Emerson, Jaha, Leslie, Guy, James, Earle, me and so, so many others are fighting back the maliciousness.

I have resisted making up a story about you, storyteller that I am. I heard your broken English and thought I heard a hint of something else. Later I learned it was Patois and Spanish accents underneath your attempt to represent yourself so well in a foreign arena. I am proud to know that you are tri-lingual, even if you were apparently socially promoted in an educational system that does not value teaching you, or that you suffer from a learning ability--I don't know which. But hours of being on the stand, you managed to withstand the badgering. I admire you for it. You displayed a strength that some of those criticizing you for not being "their kind of black" have not displayed. I don't know that I would be able to be as brave, as strong as you've been these two days. I find I admire you as I do think of all the obstacles you've faced to be in this world. 

And now, you're the "star" witness in a drama you never wanted a part. I imagine you are still grieving, traumatized by Trayvon's last screams and last words, that they intrude your dreams, making their way into nightmares. I don't know, but I imagine. I wonder if your mind races, if you think "if only" and "If I could have" thoughts. I wasn't there, talking with my friend off and on, and I think these things.

Rachel, I hope the attempts to discredit you won't seep into your soul. I pray for you these days. I hope you will grieve and be able to move on. This time is hard. I don't ever mean to minimize that. It's hard. And you're being put under more and more pressure. But you are beautiful under this pressure. I pray you will not break under it. See how I'm praying? I'm praying that no matter what anyone says, you will come out with your humanity in tact, your dignity in hand, and your soul at peace. 

I continue to pray and beat back the maliciousness.
I am in it with you. All the way,

Valerie

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 27, 2013

RACHEL JEANTEL

They are poking fun at
you Rachel for not knowing
what you were in for in that court room
for watching "First 48 Hours"
and that being your education
on our legal system
They are being snide about
your lack of command
of Queen's English
about you repeating
what Trayvon said right
before he was killed,
cold-blooded with tea
and skittles in hand:
This cracker is following me

you didn't flinch
when you said his words
They act like
you're the one on trial
and not that you're
the last one to 
have a conversation
with your friend about
the All-Star Basketball game
or that you told him to
run and he decided he
was close enough to his
apartment and didn't need to run
but you knew that day, didn't you
you KNEW and now your
knowing is being laughed at
by people who should be
defending you--I mean
black folk are posting
their disdain that you don't 
know how to handle these
crackers--like they would
be poised and wouldn't cry
and certainly wouldn't
ask the knock-knock joke of
an attorney whether
he watched First 48 Hours
because they watched
Law & Order long before
that show solved things
in 60 minutes

They are mocking you
and it's painful to read
and to see the hashtag
outrage that you don't
represent "your people" well
but your people are talking
as if you're the problem
you, not George Zimmerman
who followed your friend
and shot him right after
you heard your friend fall
on wet grass--you knew the sound
of wet grass--and they are laughing
as if they've never heard the
squishy sound of feet or back
on wet grass
but you KNEW, you did
and unpolished
unpoised, you told
us all.

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 26, 2013

ON THE COURT TOO

So the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that the Defense of Marriage Act is unconstitutional on the basis of free access, that is, the federal government can't refuse benefits to people duly married in states that allow same-sex marriage. Military spouses can get benefits. The IRS can't ignore SGL marriages for the sake of estate taxes. I'm sure there are other benefits and responsibilities, but these are the biggies. 

And then the Supreme Court declined to hear the case on Proposition 8 from California declaring that the people bringing the suit had no standing to bring it. A lower court had already ruled that Prop 8 was unconstitutional and opponents brought a suit "on behalf of the citizens of California." It's true a majority of the voters who showed up voted for Prop 8. I suppose I'll never understand why. I think the people who didn't show up for the vote just couldn't imagine that in California (of all places) that Prop 8 would pass. And so they stayed away in droves. And opponents whipped up a frenzy among conservative religious folk who thought it was their "bounden duty" to "defeat the gay agenda." I suppose I will never really understand it. I don't mean that I've always believe it was "okay to be gay," as if what I believed or didn't should have any impact what so ever on anyone else's life. It shouldn't. But I used to believe that my beliefs were superior and that I was commanded to build a world that suppressed other's lives, desires, and rights. It was the "Christian" thing to do. I was so trained. But then I read. And traveled. And met and loved people. And became a real Christian. So I guess I do understand them... I just don't want to be them anymore and haven't been for a long time (thank god).

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 26, 2013

ON PAULA DEEN

THIS POST is the ONLY one I'll make about Paula Deen 

I don't care how many black people use the word "nigger," it does not excuse Paula Deen. AND, her deposition was about more than her use of a word; it was about her discriminatory employer behavior and her creating and maintaining a hostile work environment, especially for black employees. She wanted to dress black men up as slaves and have a "genuine Southern wedding" for her brother, for God's sake!!! Was her apologies needed? In our culture we require public penance--doesn't mean people MEAN it, just that we require it. She SUCKED at the public theater, but she had to do it.... Protecting brand? ABSOLUTELY. She lost millions of dollars in contracts once the Twitterverse was overwhelmed with negative comments (and funny ones) about her. 

Paula Deen is a symbol of our ongoing dis-ease with racism, sexism, and other isms. She is not the "only one," and she is NOT an anomaly. RACISM--the systematic disenfranchisement of people of color from public power--is in the DNA of this country. It is its Original and Persistent Sin. It's in the air; its in the water. And in the Deep South and in Up South (northern cities where racism thrives), Racism often is a thin layer of civility over a thick ooze of hostility.

Paula Deen is a distraction, if all the Twitterverse and other social media can do is harp on the word "nigger" and tell clever food jokes. We need a change in this country and we're not going to get it done with mere flashes of indignant statements.

BIGOTRY is the step-child of RACISM... it is the attitude and behavior of people who can behave badly toward people because of difference, but have no power over anyone else. We suffer relentlessly from both. BUT BE CLEAR: Bigots are just gnats in our tea; RACISTS cost us our lives and liberty.

We have work to do.

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 26, 2013

POSTED on FACEBOOK as well

SUPREMACY COURT

I really have no words for today. The Supremacy (no typo) Court of the United States of America gutted the 1965 Voting Rights Act. I remember 10 years ago when it was "reaffirmed" and people warned this day would come. We said, "no! it would never happen. People know that would be evil." But here it is. The day of Evil is upon us. And now... what are we going to do? 

I have to tell you that I don't know... what we're going to do. But I know this one: we better figure out what a revolution really is.

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 25, 2013

SENSE

For Uraeus

Well-meaning people
aunts uncles cousins
odd people on the street
keep trying to explain
to my nephew
--grand in his vision--
that helping people
is not a career path
that compassion
does not build a portfolio
that his good heart
will leave him penniless
homeless with a mouth
full of pity for meat
they want him to
be ambitious
to pursue the Dream
own a home
with panoramic views
on poverty, homelessness
and not be touched by it
only see it in 3D
"do good" sounds right
on a college application
but even admissions officers
know to wink at it, to not
take it seriously, they say

but I and his mother
that warrior-heart of a woman
bring minority report
remind him that 
Condoleezza Rice--little
Birmingham baby born
in the middle of 1950s madness--
was the only child of her mother, too
studied military policy
politics, Soviet Union
endings, ballet
and classical piano
it made no Alabama sense
but look where it took her
follow your dreams, son
Step from behind the
bank accounts of
bankrupt people
watch the world up close
let it break your heart
it doesn't ever
have to make
sense
to anyone
not even you
but somebody
needs to want
to help
somebody
else
it might as
well be
you

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 25, 2013

I KEEP WAITING

I keep waiting
on the break
through
the epiphany
the one word
that will change
everything
the apocalyptic moment
the eternal revelation
I keep waiting
and running out of words
and tears
and the hope
that comes with them
I just keep...

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 24, 2013

CHOICES

You don't have to do anything
you don't have to stay and take the insults
of people who've never sit in the room
with greatness like you have, or people
who do not recognize your greatness
who hurl insults in the name of advice
and ignore you when they can
so as not to be schooled in the finer
arts of being a decent. human. being.
You don't... (wish I remembered what 
this word was supposed to be)

DRAFT

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 23, 2013

THIS ARTIST

For the honor to be
an artist
who thinks
who creates
who dances
makes poetry
laughs
makes love
questions
wonders
makes peace
with herself
and the world
as it is
and not as
she wishes 
it were

I am this artist
I am glad
I am

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 23, 2013

ONCE

Reflecting this morning....

I had a friend, once... I say "had" because he is no longer my friend. Not because I don't want to be his friend. He chose. Not because he is dead. But he chose not to be my friend anymore. I did all the things he told me to do to remain his friend. I gave up all rights to reciprocity. I gave up all rights to being respected, to being heard, to having information... I let him make all the rules. I even begged. I apologized. I begged. I groveled. And, did I say... begged. I think he took perverse pleasure in my begging. In the pain his control caused... or I should say, I let it hurt me. Maybe that's the point. I gave away all this power in this friendship. Because I wanted it. And how's this for perversion... still want it. But he chose. And does not want to be my friend. Nothing of what I gave in the friendship matters. And I gave too much. I didn't think so at the time. But I spent money. And time. And emotional capital. And it--the friendship--cost me so much. In so many ways. And the perverse part of it still? I have no regrets for the cost. But he doesn't care about that. Or about me. And I'm surprised that he doesn't care about me. I had a friend... or at least I think I did... I ... think...


© Valerie Bridgeman
June 21, 2013

DEAR MOMMY

Dear Mommy,

I wonder what you'd say to me today

when bad news comes across

the email and suck the wind

from my gut and make me
question my instinct my
I know the voice of God
sound so much like my mama
assurance--what would you
say as I sit here second-
and third-guessing my mind
my soul, my need to be free
and how the "alone" creeps
in when I can least 
afford it to visit

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 20, 2013

JUNETEENTH 2013

I think of my mama
and the way she always
walked with dignity
aware that her neighbors
did not think she deserved
to be respected or loved
aware that her grandmother
was born a slave
that she wasn't too many
days away from the
lash or the dogs
that hounded her
kin who ran for
borders, for freedom
for the right to name
their children whatever
they wanted

I am resting in this moment
thinking of my Ancestors
of the women, especially
who bore the children of rapist
slavers, who bore the lash
for no good reason
except white people
who bought and tried
to own slaves were
cruel; I see my mother
living past the memory
of her grandmother's
stories, past the violence
that got past on

I learned to pray because she
remembered that nothing was worth
her dignity and she found strength
in the presence of God: "Dear God"
I can still hear her praying
and standing at the counter
in Arby's and walking away
as the girl, barely 18, thought
she could disrespect my mama
with no consequences

Valerie, she said,
you don't ever have to take
being disrespected. And
when you're spending MONEY,
the only color that counts
is "green;" if the people
behind the counter
don't remember that, YOU
remember. 

And every time she said
Respect yourself
and others will have to
I begin to believe her
that two years' late
on the notice of "Emancipation"
was just a detail that 
did not define people
enslaved in Texas
or anywhere else. Certainly
not in my life... Freedom
is costly and now, as I 
remember my mama
I think:

Freedom ought to be celebrated, no matter how long it takes you to know that it's come.

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 19, 2013

DINNER

Bell peppers stuffed
with Smart Ground tofou
fused with Delmonte diced tomatoes
seasoned with basil, garlic and oregano
served with kale
fused with olive oil
sauteed pinenuts
shallots and garlic
served over veggie farfalla
pasta topped off with
the moans of pleasure
that comes with well-cooked
meals and good company
The Color Purple
on the TV
"til you do right by me
everything you even
think about gonna
fail" the moment of
freedom

And I am grateful
for the ability to prepare
such a meal and the love
of a good person
with whom to share it

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 19, 2013

POET CONVERSATIONS

Forgive me if I am not gentle
in my questions, he says

I'm a a poet... 
what do I know of gentle? 
there are no gentle questions 
for such prophets. 
Ask away 
tear away the grime of pretense; 
do not be gentle. 
Gentle before such need 
would be such a waste. 

~ a conversation between poets

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 18, 2013

BIRTHDAYS

Today--had she lived--my mommy Bernice O'Neal McKinney Bridgeman would have been 89-years-old. Her great granddaughter, my granddaughter Imani Tamar turns 8-years-old old today. My mommy would have been so proud of Imani. Mommy would have smiled to see her coming. I miss my mommy something fierce and am keenly aware that I am a motherless child. I love my granddaughter so much. They are/were/are kindred spirits. I am blessed.

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 18, 2013

CONVERSATION WITH A POET

• *blanks in place of definite markers and one name/relationship within the conversation

  ME: how are you poet/songwriter/prophet?

  POET TOO:  i'm well dear. How are you love? Why are you up with the heavens?
• ME: insomnia
  or ... something
  bereft of love
  missing my mommy
  all of the above
  
  POET TOO: I understand
  in company
  @)--------
  
  ME: write on, friend. I look forward to be-coming of friendship... the growing and the groping of it... I'm sincerely glad I "met" you... and I don't just mean met you in a physical place in _______, but that too... so thank you for meeting me back
• 
  

  POET TOO: indeed dear. how long has it been? if i'm not too intrusive
  
  ME: how long has what been?
  my mommy 2002
  bereft of love February 2013
  insomnia... off and on all my life lol
• POET TOO: how is your heart? your hope?
  
  ME: you really are a poet... we go straight for the heart...
  my heart is broken/shattered in ways I didn't know possible
• POET TOO: and your hope?
  
  ME: I have always been a lover... called to be... wrapped many in this orb of love... as a way of living... but ... the cracks this time has left me unbelieving that I will ever love or be loved again in an erotic/passionate/breathless way
  so... hope... is ... less
  cracks... *have (despise grammar mistakes, even when/if I'm ranting or crying)
  I am an old woman, now
  I wasn't... before February...
  then, I was ... seasoned... experienced... sagely... wise... and age was an ally for all the knowledge I held...
  now... I am ... an old woman
• POET TOO: what is old to you? what is youth to you? what in your breathing, do you feel you've lost/given away?
  are you ok dear? I apologize if my questions weren't gentle to your moment
• ME: I'm a poet... what do I know of gentle?old isn't in the age... I felt alive and vibrant... age-less... beyond the categories...now... I cannot move without the pain, internal and external... the creaking of bones and soul... the canker of itgrief ages me...consumesconcrete boots to my beingand I cannot/have not been able to... surface for air... the weight of boots not made for living...
• POET TOO: what have you gained? what has gained you?
  
  ME: I was deeply loved... of that I am sure. perhaps still deeply loved
  and souls thrive with knowing they are known
  but... and here are the headwaters of grief... I am greedy... I want it still
  and I feel... I have not been numb... as painful as that is, it is gift...
• POET TOO: passing through you?
• ME: I don't know... maybe lodging... I'm not a masochist, so pain is not a welcome friend, but it is a reminder that I'm human...

  I just saw something you posted June ___:
  "I am so grateful that i'm not cruel"
• POET TOO: from your expression. it seems to be passing through...and that is the healthiest pain
• ME: I had not seen it... but my ______ (__________) and I talked today about that fact that "being cruel" is not one of our flaws
  or yesterday, now
  I am not cruel...
  even in grief
  especially in grief

  POET TOO:    indeed
• ME: well, confessor, thank you for being here in insomnia
  perhaps that was the gift of sleeplessness
  I'm going to try to lay down for an hour or two
• POET TOO: rest well dear.
  
  ME: next time, I will be the confessor/priest
• POET TOO: 
• ME: And you, sir. 
  

  (Don't know that it's "copywrite" worthy and no, I didn't ask permission, but you also don't know who it is)

  
  

  June 18, 2013

CRUEL

I don't do cruel.
Reminding myself.
That's all.

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 17, 2013

TEN YEARS FROM NOW

Ten years from now, she says,
You won't remember the way
the sun burned your skin 
because you refused to leave
the sands of time, refused
to come in from the shine
you won't remember that
it rained and that the drops
stung your back like fire
you won't remember that
your eyes were on fire from
staring at the beauty 
of your lover's smile

Ten years from now, she says,
This time will be a blur
and for all your lament
that you can't/won't heal
your heart will be so strong
you won't remember
what it felt like to be so broken,
so sure that you would never
stand up straight again
you won't remember how
your nose refused to 
breathe from all the mucus
collected like coins in
offering plates, like
the way you stuffed paper
in all the wrong places
to appear grown

Ten years from now, she says,
This world will look with wonder
on your glory, will shade itself
from all your burst of shine
and heat and you won't remember
that you once believed
rain was fire.

© Valerie Bridgeman
June 16, 2013

DRAFT (does not at all feel 'finished')