you seduced me on the staircase

You seduced me on the staircase
as I sucked sweet citrus in the early evening light of midwinter
the juicy tang no match to your tongue on mine

I tasted sugary cookie crumbs in the cracks of your lips, chapped
your breath hot and laced with cocoa
you offered me some, but my belly steamed already

Wool socks scratched against bare skin
rug burns on my back, bruises, little gnawings, clawings
be-carefullings of the uneaten orange beside us, soon forgotten

We slept soundly that night, awoke to fresh snow
sunlight creeping up the stairs, where the ripe orange still glowed
the whole house smelled of it, and of love
and of smoldered ash upon the hearth

Photo by Sadie Whitehead.  Words by Teneisha A. Kessler-Emanuel

Eulogy

I remember your rock star dreams,
underpaid, underappreciated musician
playing local bars ‘til 2 AM,
collapsing into bed ‘til 2 PM,
caffeine zombie by day
and cannabis by night—
rewind,
repeat.

It didn’t pay the bills.
You couldn’t sing,
but you played a mean flamenco.

The little blue Stratocaster rests
under my bed now. I strummed it
when I was 5
and wanted to be just like Daddy.
You sang me to sleep with
Beatles’ lullabies.
The White Album makes me weep, still.

Did Jesus meet you when you died?
Or did John Lennon?

I listen to your LP’s, now mine,
burn patchouli, and pretend
it’s 1971,
when you were young
and long-haired
and I wasn’t even born yet,
but belonged better to a time long before.

I’d never dare pull
a Back-to-the-Future stunt,
for fear of falling of love with the man
who’d be my father.

I love you still.

Art by Christian Barron.  Words by Teniesha A. Kessler-Emanuel