Dear Marsha Adams

Dear 10 year old Marsha Adams.
Thank you for everything.
I’ve been in love
With the idea of being in love
Since your
Lightskinned fine ass
Told me in class that you likes me.
Just as the teacher called on me,
To do the fractions on the board.
And lord, how I hate math.
Especially when it keeps me from following up
With my only fraction of hope.

Yes ten year old Marsha,
Who attended dance class in oxymoronic attire,
Baggy blue tights accompanied by an orange sweater;
How I swooned over thee.
Pining over your every utterance,
In Spanish class, you would practice rolling your r’s
and I would practices rolling up to you.
Rahim joned me out for being so press.
but what is expected for this brother to do.
After you told me, I never really made a move.
But you did.
You moved…
Just like Tiffany from kindergarten, and Lisa Savage 2nd-4th grade, and to an extent April January from church though she was way to old for me anyway.
You moved.

And Things changed Marsha.
I was enthralled by 10 year old Marsha who played double dutch,
Not 16 year old Marsha who smoked double dutches,
Or 19 year old Marsha pressed for the Fendi clutches,
Or 24 yeah old Marsha in the club beggin’ for men to touch it.
I fell in love with walking 5th grade snowy fields,while fantasizing about singing in the choir.
The feelings were in my soul for real.
We rehearsed candy rain with frost bitten tongues,
Hot and cold air mixing in lungs like pneumonic tornadoes.
If only I could have coughed up these feeling,
Maybe it wouldn’t be killing me to see you like this.

So 10 year old Marsha Adams,
This goes out to you.
Though I was disappointed you would not repeat what you said,
I’m sure you meant it,
Even if it was a dare, designed to shatter me,
Or a desire brought about by preteen hormones,
Or a momentary crush that fled just as it was discovered how very poor I am at fractions.
I believed.
And even now, after over 20 years, I choose to believe wholly in what could be a fragmented glimmer of hope.
I choose to believe wholly.

I mean, I’ve always been bad at fractions anyway.

Categories: PoetryTags: , , , ,

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