Haja Kamara

Orange Poem for My Best Friend Jo, Who Collects Orange Poems

one winter, Florida froze over,
and the oranges, suspended in ice,
hung silently.

there were no oranges to squeeze,
no juice to be had.
for breakfast, only memories of sun,
and the almost-forgotten taste of sweetness.

it is winter again, and outside the grocery store

a woman wipes bird shit from her van.
as day turns to night,
she stands there with her kleenex, scrubbing the
white streaks from the gray-blue metal.
her luck, and ours i think,
is guaranteed to turn.

every day I am reminded of you:
drinking a hot toddy with your pinky finger up,
your coat unbuttoned as we push against the wind,
how you rarely wore a hat.
the time you gave me your shoes after I slipped on the ice–
you walked home barefoot and never complained.
i forgot then that you are from the snow,
you are used to this.

perhaps when everything thaws,
we can have breakfast again:
eggs benedict, lox scramble, cinnamon roll pancakes,
and orange juice.
until then.

Mom Leaves Me a Voicemail and in It She Says

1. hey
i’m just checking
how are you doing
love you bye

2. hey
i’m just checking
i hope you had a good day
good night
i’ll talk to you tomorrow
love you bye

3. hey
i hope you are doing good

4. hey
i love you
talk to you later

but in it i want her to say

I saw a little girl who reminded me so much of you today, how you looked at your preschool
picture day, eyes wide as saucers in that ballerina costume. And the other kids dressed as cops
and astronauts, doctors and teachers, their smiles so wide for that photographer. Oh how you
stood there for the camera, looking like cotton candy, or grapefruit juice, like watermelon in the
summer and cherry blossoms in the spring! Pink like strawberry ice cream straight from the
truck, the sky after the sun, the family of flamingos you loved at the zoo. Sometimes I find
myself sitting here wondering if you could be that little girl again, even if just for a minute, you
were so pretty in pink. I know there wasn’t a costume for the things you wanted to be, and I
apologize for that. What costume is there for kindness? I hope today you dressed for something
more than just life in service of things.

Anyways, just checking

love you bye.

Thinking of Dad back home in DC; he sits by the telephone

As spring blossoms, the earth reawakens–
I am where I’ve always been.
You are, too.
The park swarms with people
rollerblading, shadowboxing,
drumming, juggling.
A child runs ahead of her mother,
the way children do,
blazing bright as a shooting star.
Her head thrown back,
laughing, laughing, laughing
no idea how big the world is,
how small we are.

One Fourth of July,
He took me to watch fireworks at Malcolm X Park.
We were both still young enough
for me to sit on his shoulders,
watching the explosions of red, white, and blue in silent awe.
I wonder if he was tired.
I must have been heavy.
Perhaps he loved me enough to bear my weight.

I remember,
after all the sparklers had sparkled,
how we drank orange juice
at the kitchen table,
looking out at the hazy sky.
How he unfolded a map of the world,
and pointed to Africa.
How he said that one day
we will all be free.

That one day, in my lifetime,
I will know what it feels to
stand on my own.