I Wrote my First Poem about Her When We Were Teens
She made her way from seventeen to be
At mother’s funeral, a long time on
That journey. In between those years debris
Of life had separated us. Yvette had gone
To black men in her bed, a husband—then
The sex god others. Children hubby gave
But after him came darker, starker men
With starker things between their legs. To save
Her children she was forced to disappear
By one of these more crime-like guys despite
His sexiness. Each one had left his smear
Inside her, off-white stain within her white.
In spite of these she came to mother’s rites,
Despite our separation and black nights.
~ Phillip Whidden