Eight tiny poems about Charleston

when the lights flash at 2a.m.,
every person in dimmed shadow
becomes enlightened
even though
they are scrambling
for another conversation
with darkness and drama.

John L. Dart Library
the man at the pulpit
says “I have faith
that one day we will see her
in the morning.”
And I started thinking
about that word. Mourning.
How one letter can change a world,
how one woman can change
a community. You see,
his sister is now one of our angels.
One of the Emanuel 9.
And maybe he meant “morning,”
but I couldn’t help
but think about Charleston,
still in mourning.

Hampton Park #1
if you look closely,
each path of this park
is as reliable
as the dawn’s persistance of a new day.
whether paved or littered with sand,
the grounds hold
footprints of change.
the humid soil
nurtures new flowers,
the air can’t hide its thick history.

Hampton Park #2
there is a certain way
that light bends
upon tree limbs
when I walk through
Hampton Park.
Sunlight is a welcome friend
after my contentious relationship
with a restless night.
my morning’s path
is the path of these grounds.
they always lead me
back to my core.

The Commodore
the “touch of class” sign
outside of the bar
is like a relic.
a dinosaur bone
with the memory of flesh,
now frozen in time
in a museum of our own making.
the history feels like a fable.
the photos on the wall
show large footprints,
and paint a much different picture
than what I’m seeing tonight.

Poet, at the Shops of Charleston Place
I probably look creepy,
sitting on a bench outside
of a lingerie store,
pen and paper in hand.
but everone around me
is staring at their phones,
bllinded by consumerism,

no poems came
to me today.

Market Street
feet, shuffling in
from the heat,
walk through
an air-conditioned snapshot
of Charleston.
thousands of
slowly weave through
a narrow path
to catch a tiny glimpse
of our city,
packed together
tighter than
the woven threads
of sweetgrass

Elliotborough Mini Bar
we come here in full armor
carrying weapons of words,
ready to go to war
with demons of insecurity.
our battlefield is the stage
and our shields are up
until poetry
breaks it all down.