Two Sonnets – Progressive.org

“Combing My Father’s Hair”

For Franklin Powell Sr. 

(a/k/a Red)

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Posting Up between buckshot & paternal

bloom. I stand behind our kitchen chair.

Where Dad is seated with pockets of

Charm and loose change. No hard start.

Though standing only 5’8” you’d think I’m

the Center in this NBA coliseum of spoons,

pans, pots & jack-legged barbering skill: His is

my first head, a globe framed by Field Holler

& endless grace. Tender-headed, he squirms in

the chair. As if he’s a catfish dangling from my lure

& line. Confession: I’m tendered-headed, too.

Scratch my head with a comb’s teeth & I wail.

Howlin’ Wolf, salty & perfumed, thunders from

Dad’s 8-track tape, edging us in sage & loam.

“Stop-and-Frisk”

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In the funky trap of bigotry &

Loose cannons loom deadly, one-eyed blue beasts.

Hunting honeyed avenues, boulevards,

& streets. Prowling for sacrificial lambs

Under the pomp-and-circumstance of Terry frisks.

Black and Brown men walk out ordinary days,

Balancing the draw & release of deadly encounters.

We fall prey to this blue beast’s theology,

Hardwired to bracelet me and mine—despite

That light and innocence infuse our lives.

Or that our hands live to lift our babies

Into the sky, guide them as they learn to walk.

The riddle between my freedom & pat down

Stirs an algorithm reason cannot balance.