absolutely familiar
though this composite
is arresting and near unrecognizable
appearing as face and form of a human woman
who never endured, nor knew of, disease
wearing pleromic countenance
without tongue for human words, without neurons for human thoughts
yet fluently exuding
all the truth
that is
now hers
Continue reading “the visitation”History will absolve you.
Stand with Palestine.
the roadside memorials in New Mexico are truly, exceptionally beautiful
many are illuminated with solar- or battery-powered Christmas lights at night
this, though, is the first “ghost bike” motorcycle i’ve spotted anywhere
Continue reading “a ghost bike somewhere in New Mexico”
FOREVER “you”…
My childhood friend, and through the years, we've grown together, shared joy and tears, were bonded like the day and night, our hearts forever will unite, you've given me, a chance to be, a friend forever, most definitely, I am forever, there is no end, you'll always be, my most best friend, each day and night, I keep you near, always know, that I am here. Thank you for, the love you've shared, nothing else can compare, So much we've grown, and been all through, forever is forever you.
Poem by Lajuana Lampkins
©️copyright Lajuana Lampkins
September 2023
near invisible,
imagine silk organza, chameleoned
peach-pink colored, when i Am naked,
the color of water as i bathe.
sky blue, golden, sherbet, grayed or midnight black,
when i Am outside
ever-shifting with the time of day and weather,
once, even green,
as i knelt down in the cold grass
while diaphanous to all the unobservant
i Am dressed in this cloak of mourning
and the hem is lined with lead
Continue reading “the mourning cloak”autumn
was the last season of her life
the northwest wind carried her away
easier than gossamer
the golden light
stole her attention, as per
halted her forward motion, as per
the Sun’s set
would be the first
without Her, earthside
she took some photos, as per,
/but also, to remember that very first one/
she then acknowledged
that the Sun, Moon and Stars
herald no one’s birth, announce no one’s death
and perhaps that’s why
the Star of Bethlehem
and a midday eclipse
the first night, the long night
the first sleep
sobbing or wailing into oblivion
eyes forced shut by swollen lids
eventually the mammalian body
succumbs to the exhaustion
from the metabolic expenditure of emotional agony and adrenaline
the next morning
the first sweet seconds of confusion of time and place
as the tender light or familiar sounds of daybreak
breach the senses
a suspension of forgetting
the devastation of yesterday
those must be the most ephemeral moments
in human consciousness
then a stirring
a shifting in bed
to adjust position
breaks the magic of sleep
the anvil of non-specific grief returns to the chest
the coils of hopelessness entwine the limbs
the last meal that She cooked for herself
was in the late afternoon of the 18th of September the Year of Our Hearts, 2023
that same evening
She would spend the last night together alone with her only child, her son, in Their house on Adams Street
he had already stopped at Chik-fil-A
– or Quesabroso? for his dinner
he, sixteen forever, for Her, not even licensed for a year yet
She thought, then said aloud to him
“pasta. i want some pasta.”
and so She very slowly set about
choosing saucepans, boiling water,
sautéing a little ground beef with a bit of diced onion, and minced garlic from a giant container from Costco,
adding in a half jar of Rao’s Original, some dried herbs — nothing too spicy or fancy now,
cooking her favorite gluten-free rigatoni,
or was it penne, mostaccioli?
She ate, rinsed the pots, loaded and ran the dishwasher, put the combined leftovers in her fridge
and at dinner time the very next day,
She told her oldest and dearest friend about it
her friend listened, and watched Her plate, reheat, and sit down to eat those leftovers — She wanting to do all that for Herself, still
She taking the smallest and most intentional bites possible,
every delicate swallow and cough amplified in the too-big-for-two, unusually quiet house, the parade of Her friends and visitors gone until tomorrow
“i’m not supposed to drink with these meds, but lemme have just one lil’ sip of your wine”
Continue reading “the last meal of a woman”
the limineen | earthling, poet & crone 