His Eulogy
One for you, one for me, one for eternity
we were
Siamese black sheep.
His name was Buddy,
my name was Goodie
two shoes
Left for him,
Right for me,
walking the same path
with opposite feet.
Stepping away from each other
for the sake of destinies.
I reached for metal lockers;
bit the blank bullets of concrete halls
that wouldn’t bury me.
Beat my head into the books he longed for,
he left me
for cocking pistols.
Illiteracy locking his head
into street life
case numbers,
counting dime bags for dollars
counting down days to live for.
I ignored the written warnings,
read him fantasies
signed his name
on job applications,
denied his felonies,
naively shoveled grass
in the greens of
gang shots of hot steel through the hip
amputated us to pieces.
I dragged my half to podiums
just above his casket locked body,
which split our family into
oppositions,
the rated R’s vs the Christian committee.
I stroked our lucky bandana
and fist gripped the page that stood between
me and his eulogy.
I spoke in teary lumps
until the ink bled into my palm,
ran up my arm,
permeated my skin with his tattoo.
Thugs life it cried
for the side of me
that had courage to stitch a smile
on the face of pain,
sense enough to snatch the needle from my eyes,
mend the funeral rose wounds
in my thorny hand
and drop the flower in his grave.
But I stood there stony faced,
hoping the cat would loosen its grip
and let me
speak epics of us beating odds,
dodging bullets, or binding dreams in books we both could read.
I remained silent on regret
until I met his
legacy two months later
cradle rocked on my chest.
The baby boy he never met inspired me to
push the pen to the page,
rip verses in memories,
loosen the mouth stitches and spit
philosophies
about the two purple and one red rose,
pillars of greatness bound with love,
squeezed out the reality that we killed him
with our could haves and would haves,
afraid to give affirmations to my better than good half
now realizing
letting go doesn’t always mean loosing
the way
I lost the truth of him and me.
We fit in the crooks and crannies of each other
without having to touch.
Today,
I stagger/stand one over one
on his concrete roof
equals one
us together I toss one
for eternity.
About Phoenix YZ
I was born and raised in Macon, GA
Formally educated at Agnes Scott College, My Momma’s Kitchen, Columbus State University, & The Other Side of the Tracks
The Work (Books, Film, Plays, Performances, etc.) The vibrant Atlanta arts scene inspired Battle to produce two spoken word albums and an alternatively styled book.