"The Recipe to Write-Handed Poetry" Layer'd my blackness my phatness like ripe, green-peppered memories simmering with tender onion-type stories Tears of glee and misery fall upon . . . Layer'd Psalms and anointing of heads Choir robes and sick beds like violet laced cloths upon dresses, deemed too short like the whimpered prayer before the abort Layer'd With mommas and daddies who dance together still With wills already done and promises fulfilled loving the black boys returning from stores loving the brown girls just learning to speak English lovers together, forty plus, "post-crush" loving rush hours that come right on time Layer'd from the glossy book covers flyy brothers and society's "others" learning how to read to crease yellowed gems packed with words from busy craniums like traffic on a Friday like liquor on a Sunday Writing poetry is icing... Life is cake... Don't jump while it's cookin' ...then you may taste