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Me dea,
You would of loved it.
You would have been sitting in the driveway
With your sunglasses on that matched mine,
Kindling my soul with the morning orange,
Soft ray of warmth in your black coffee smile.
Front page, old friend: East Side Artist.
They said your dreams and history were
“Outrageous and insightful.”
When I read that, I thought
Of your black velvet hat with the pigeon feather.
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They even mentioned the Angel you saw,
And when I read that I drifted back...to…
Ebony hard onyx nights under that eastside plantation moon.
Where the air was still thick with slave hate,
And the mosquitoes bit my goose bump flesh
As you told your story like a Zulu warrior to his son.
And Perkins, I was…no, I am, your son.
I am your sun.
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The heat will make the hate uncomfortable
And will give warmth to cold souls on Hackberry St.
I will not mourn you ‘ol friend.
Just wake up grateful, when early morning tide brings the day’s new beginning.
Head down to the café, and sit at our usual table.
I’ll order my enchilada plate and,
Your liver n’ onions taco, coffee, two creams.
I’ll eat while I listen to you talk to me about our 2010 project,
And your food will sit across from me…
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And just as real as your favorite meal sits across from me with its aroma
Drifting through the air, around my presence…
So will your spirit.
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