Summertime

The sea breeze whispers in the screens,

rising to hoarse whistles,

as the temperature drops nearly 10 degrees.

The brown flesh of her arms is warm;

her scent, sweat sour.

The sunlights splinters in the pale blue sky ,

ricochets off sand and water

to make the pain in my eyes,

“Hush now” she replies, thinking her blues

that my daddy's rich and ma's good lookin'.

But thats a white man's fantasy of a black woman's blues,

and there's love in her voice in every case.

But what I can't hear is her heart stretch

100 miles west into a Philadelphia ghetto's heat

where she's left Lil in the Old Bag's care

who's only arms I remember,

brown above the elbows,

but button white

down to her fingertips

from the business end of bleach.

Her heart breaks for Lil

every time it breaks for me.

It's her white noise.

Like this sea's ceaseless beat,

night and day,

beneath the pop of the screen doors,

dulled by the sound of the wind.