The Men in my Life

L came from new york

and was luscious to look at:

skin dark as a plum;

lips sculpted by the architects of the pyramids

and arms that pinned me securely to the bed

when I tried to sneak out for a midnight smoke.

I was with him when the 92 rebellions hit.

The memory I have of him is highlighted by a picture

that appeared on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle:

standing on top of a car

delivering an insurgent state of the union speech;

a speech that got him arrested

while wearing my burn hollywood burn t-shirt.

A shirt declared contraband and confiscated as illegal imagery:

a masked vato about to toss a Molotov cocktail.

From him, I have a swiss army knife.

D was born and raised in oakland

the first place crack hit

although he wasn't its first victim…or its last.

He had golden brown skin

and the build of the maasai

but he was kind of fragile, physically.

I met him when I was down on my luck.

The memory I have of him is holding my hand

and walking me through everything I was going through.

From him, I have a towel.

Y was my heart from the start.

The youngest of six raised by a kindergarten-sized woman

with no money and no place to live when the hawk ruled the wind.

He was short; shorter than I'd ever experienced

but being short myself, he fit me.

The memory I have of him is in the hospital room

and suddenly the hard rock turned into soft jelly.

From him, I have a baby.

From the men in my life I have

A knife

A towel

A baby

A weapon

A succor

A future.