THE OTHER SIDE
by Niama Leslie Williams

wisp of a song 
hair fries in a corner 
madman memory shakes lonely man 
looking out window 
eye gives woman of girth 
little girl 
arms around mama's stomach 
trusting as the pressing comb is laid. 
the hair sizzles, obedient 
the girl twists and fidgets not too much 
no Mahalia, no Fisk, no Tuskegee, 
her mama joins Dinah, Nancy, 
Mathis, Simone 
on occasion 
that Welshman Jones and his Delilah. 
 
these Saturdays 
lonely man looks out window 
looks back 
daughter lays brown brocade on her bed 
sinks into sumptuous beige sheets 
knows, through skin, a velvet she never understood existed 
Mama didn?t rest in bed. 
 
lonely man looks out 
looks back 
watches them prepare: 
sweep the grave 
light the candles 
dress the skeleton the sugar cane the altar 
a pain hits: 
daughter reaches for Oaxacan hand 
to cinch bond with death. 
what of her own? 
what of the sacrifice of binding knowledge: 
cotton fields slave quarters 
screams cries whispers 
New World agony 
past now, cost still ringing up on the register 
she?s lost every other way 
to reach back. 
 
dance on the grave. 
an empty pine box 
small, for jewelry, 
remains burned to a crisp 
scattered over Mama's favorite Manhattan Beach. 
daughter wants regular lines 
coherence form order code 
but he has rattled her cage 
mussed her hair 
left a firm thumbprint 
only ashes now can see. 
 
at Mama's hip what learned? 
from Mama's lip what song? 
pressing comb brings reality neither thought to study 
for Mama it was just acceptable dress 
like pantyhose Sunday mornings. 
for Mama it was no givin in to whiteness 
she liked herself just fine 
and how do we get back to that? 
she smiled at daughter's braids 
as she knew never, never 
1932 plaits too severe. 
how do we sap that richness 
that self-possession 
snap back at the natural tongue clickers? 
 
we sit down exhausted 
whirled and twirled ourselves silly he and i 
over her pine box 
her turquoise necklace 
matching earlobe pieces 
all that was left 
of the understated, iron elegance. 
 
we sit down exhausted 
why are we in Oaxaca 
where is she really 
why have we only the pine box 
can we pick up any pieces of her 
at Manhattan Beach ---- 

Copyright © February 2006

Niama Leslie Williams recently earned her doctorate in African American Studies from Temple University; she also possesses degrees in comparative literature and professional writing. Her work has appeared in Dark Eros, Spirit & Flame, Catch the Fire, Beyond the Frontier, Tattoo Highway #6, P.A.W. Prints, and most recently in Mischief, Caprice, and Other Poetic Strategies (Red Hen Press). Visit her website for downloadable audio files and more information: http://www.niamalesliewilliams.citymax.com

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