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BITTER
MELON
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BITTER
MELON
poems by
ELVIS ALVES
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I remain grateful to the editors of the following publications in which
some of the poems in this collection appeared: A Morning in Harlem in
Stepaway Magazine; Subway inThe Applicant; River People, Stardust and
At the Park in Rufous Salon; Quetzalcoatl in Garbanzo Literary Journal;
Left Behind in Colere; Obeah Grandmother in Caribbean Writer Journal
and First Reads; Blessings, and Morceau in Lalitamba.
This book would be impossible to bring to form without love and
support from my family and friends, Otis Alves, Wynita Alves, Khania
Curtis, Clara Freeman, Fidelis Ojevwe, Eric V. White, Dionne Dixon,
Sophia Ward, Toren Curtis, Beverley Curtis, Rhovan Curtis, Joseph
Kramp, Pangernunba, Laurence Berkowitz, Nicholas Prior, Judy and
Howard Segall, and Eugene Bernie Kendrick. I am thankful for spir-
itual and moral support received from members of Lafayette Avenue
Presbyterian Church, especially Rev Carmen Mason-Browne, Annette
Leach, Selma Jackson, Peaches Diamond, and Edward Moran. I am en-
couraged by fellow writers, Keisha-Gaye Anderson, Tishon Woolcock,
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor, Elizabeth Nunez, Anton Nimblett, and Caits
Meissner. I am grateful for Peter Poulos, Jennifer Heron, Maria Felix
and fellow chaplains at New York Methodist Hospital who do ministry
with utmost compassion and resilience in the face of all that life offers.
Last but not least, thanks to my former professors and mentors at Col-gate University and Princeton Theological Seminary, Harvey Sindima,
Nancy Devries, Tom Howard, Margaret Darby and Peter Paris.
There are so many more people upon whose shoulders I continue to stand.
Thank you.
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for Marcel and Shelly Alves
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Annual Encounter
I BITTER MELON
Eden
Moon Love
Bitter Melon (One)
Bitter Melon (Two)Bitter Melon (Three)
II A MORNING IN HARLEM
Determination
Sisyphus
A Morning in Harlem
Animal Farm
Malcolms Jazz
pruitt igoe
III HIP HOP
Fall
Musicians Commune
Hip Hop
SubwaySoul City
On Waiting
River People
IV QUETZALCOATL
Quetzalcoatl
Left Behind
Sancocho
Moses
Amistads Cook
Leftovers
Yoruba Woman
CONTENTS
1
4
5
6
89
14
15
16
17
18
20
24
25
27
3031
32
33
36
37
38
39
40
41
43
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Birthing
Ixchel
Preparation
Agave Plant
V PANTHEON OF ANGELS
American ApocalypseNameless Abyss
Seeing
Obeah Grandmother
Blessings
Climb
Recycle
Kikiyu Princess
Pantheon of Angels
Beautiful Imperfections
Stand
Becoming
Rich Dreams
Stardust
VI THE INCAPABILITY OF THESUSPENSION OF MORAL JUDGMENT
WHEN THE TOPIC IS RACE
Naming
We Were Always Here
Tuskegee Experiment
At the Park
The Incapability of the Suspension of Moral
Judgment When the Topic is RaceLucilles Twenty Dollars
Moreceau
Karma
Bitter Melon (Redux)
44
45
46
47
5051
52
54
56
57
58
59
60
61
63
64
65
67
71
72
73
74
76
77
79
80
83
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1
I am waiting for you at the caf for a late afternoonrendezvous
Soon you will walk through the glass door and
casual entreaties would be exchanged between us
as usual
How are you?
Hug
Kiss
Some form of embrace
We will sit and talk about events that occurred in the space of time
since we last saw each other and now
Tomorrow, I will forget more than half of what was said by you,
by me
I will also forget the feel of your
Hug
Kiss
Some form of embrace
By then, though, we will have already agreed to meet again
at the same place, around the same time next year
ANNUAL ENCOUNTER
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I
BITTER MELON
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4
Come and stand with meunder the tree of good and evil
Here, we will pontificate,
elaborate on the meaning of these
days that fall and touch our feet
pushing carnal desires along
paths ahead of us
Paths leading to places we
fear to go until courage invades,
opening our hearts and minds
to possibilities beyond the gates
of Eden
EDEN
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5
Even the moon wanes at the end of the night,
Returning to where it came;
A rising star, with golden crown, taking its place: Champion of
The Day
Stay with me
Do not go
If you must go, do not travel far
I am a dwindling star of the night, unable to shine bright out
of your sight
I am a man of taste, of class, of dreams, some of which die fast
and others die slow
Even the moon wanes at the end of the night
Yes, indeed, it does
But some things are eternal like God, love, a comforting touch
or smile
Stay awhile and talk to me
I am a man of few wordsI try to be a good listener
I work on this trait as a diligent farmer cares for his
crop in the fieldbecause food and life are the same and you are
food to my life
I mold my thoughts around yours and respond only if I must
Let us grow together
Let our love not wane,
even if the moon must
MOON LOVE
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6
Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, andthey become one flesh (Genesis 2:24)
I
My mother met my father at a dance party. Both were 24 years old.
The dance party was held at a venue called Dancehall in the village
where my father was born and lived. He worked as a police officer.
My parents were introduced to each other by a mutual friend.
II
My mother was once engaged to the brother of the mutual friend.
The mutual friends brother, formally my mothers fianc, died in an
accident. My mother rarely talks about the accident. On that rare
occasion, she says it was a motorcycle crash, failing to divulge details
about the crash or the fianc it carried through deaths door.
IIIOn the night that they met, my mother said that my father tried
to persuade her to come home with him. As if to encourage her to
give in, he, according to my mother, said that he only lived with his
mother, father, brother, and sister. My fathers charms did not work
the first night he met my mother.
IV
Few weeks after the initial meeting, my father was able to persuade
my mother to visit his parents. People in the village took interest
in the visitor. She was quite beautiful, a fact that was in contrast
(according to my mother) to the other women that the police officer
had dated.
V
The young woman arrived in the village, sitting on top of the handle
bar of the police officers new bicycle. She was a light skinned black
woman. This aspect of the color of her skin gave the young woman
immediate high status in a community that attached beauty to skin
color, with the color white at the top of the beauty scale.
BITTER MELON (ONE)
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8
Woman, here is your son (John 19:26)
Diced pieces of a canoe shaped vegetable cook to perfection, green
becomes brown when tomato sauce mixes with minced garlic,
chopped onion, salt, black pepper, assorted spices,
dressed with oil bubbling in a pot.
Bitter melon is an acquired taste; something to grow into like an
oversized pair of shoes.
You will learn to love her, my mother says, as she throws pinches of
curry powder into the simmering pot with the left hand and stirs its
contents with a wooden spoon held in the right hand.
The rapid genuflections of her hand remind me of the action of a
Hindu woman dipping and throwing specks of gold dust held in a
bowl atop the bared heads of jhandi flags as these symbols of faith and
good fortune dance in the wind, dodging the flakes thrown at them.
Bitter melon is gold of the food world that nobody desires, I think but do not
say aloud, wondering if my mother had learned to love my father by
the time I was born.
BITTER MELON (TWO)
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9
and the greatest of these is love (1Corinthians 13:13)
I was going to write you a letter but hope that a poem will
suffice, not in arguing my pointswe, I mean, I, did enough of
that last night
You called me self-righteous
You were angry
We were out and I dropped you off at your place without telling
you why, that is, until you asked and I still had problems saying why;
The engine of the car making noise, speaking for me
The act of driving to the front of your house, unbeknownst to
you, to me, was visceral. The muscular memories in my hands and
stomach coordinating a successful sabotage of love
I apologized then and there. Ignoring the apology, you said that
you would remain the person you are, you wont change for me
and I should accept you or else
You did not finish the or else (even though I wanted you to, I did
not push you)
Instead, I asked, what is wrong with change, especially if it is forthe better?
You called me self-righteous and that I have standards, high
standards
(I could have asked whats wrong with having high standards, but
that would have proven that I was self-righteous) And so I did not
say anything
You cried. And before we drove off to the bar, you started to
apologize for the tears. I said No. Dont.You asked why. I said,
BITTER MELON (THREE)
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10
because they allow you to name your feelings; Something I was unable to do
Maybe I need to cry more often, I thought to myself
The football game was on television at the bar. There were also a lot
of beautiful women at the bar
You caught me checking out one of them. I said I am paying attention
to you; you are the most beautiful woman here. I was telling the truth
You pointed out girls, telling me that the one with the afro is cute. I
said, No. She is not. I dont like her body typetoo skinny
You pointed to one of the waitresses (indicating that she is hot and I
disagreed)
We agreed that the bartender was cute. I then caught myself,
expressing the fear, I hope you are not into girls. I told you about my lastrelationship and
I am not a lesbian, you hurriedly responded
At that moment, I remembered as we sat in the car in front your
house you told me that you did not love your ex-boyfriend in a total
way (the way that you should have)flaws and alland that this was
not the case with me. You love me for all that I am
I appreciate your honesty but we have brought some baggage with us
into what we are trying to build in terms of a relationship
I appreciate that you are able to lay out your baggage for us to look at
I need to work on returning the favor
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II
A MORNING IN
HARLEM
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15
Oh motherless childwhere will you run to?
Come eat the fruits of your labor
though they are bittersweet
Sometimes the worlds broad shoulders
are unable to carry the turmoil
borne of corruption, leaving bits of humanity
hanging like dead leaves on an almost
bare tree
Falling prey to despair
Encouraged only by the instinct of survival,
we become the animals we were created to be
The stranger walks the night without friends at his side,
the hunger of an abandoned, orphaned child is his companion
Run to the river and lay in its wet bed
Let the river wash shame and guilt that have
accrued through the years: You have always been
innocent
Motherless child; death does not call your name
Motherless child; earth is more than capable of sustaining you
When the weight of the world is on your shoulders, do not submit
like Sisyphus
Push it off and run!
SISYPHUS
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17
Cats fall from the skyThunder cries softly,
juxtaposed to heavy, drunken
howling of a camp of canines,
the dark flesh of night covering their fiery
crazed eyes
Cows and horses restlessly walk
to empty troughs long abandoned by
pigs, land-bound scavengers whose vocal leaders
stood on shaky soap boxes recruiting
members to the rebellious foldwith the slogan, the chickens have come
home to roost
ANIMAL FARM
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lllRosewoodblack haven turned home
to death running wildfrom your trees
hang more than leaves
Rosewood, no longer comforted by black souls,
is left in the charge of invaders who patrol with
ammunitions that do not signal manumission
Horses lay basking in the sun; slumped over with
exposed cavernous stomachs stitched tight with
potatoes, squash, and collard greens rummaged from
fields once planted by black hands now hanging from trees
IV
One bright morning, when this life is over, Illfly away
to
St. Louis, Missouri
and
Boston, Massachusetts
then
New York, New York and join
the OAAU
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20
name that place inthe land of jazz.
name it in saint
louis, missouri.
hands rest in pruitt
igoe. hands that
once belonged to
children now holding
onto what is left
of life like the last
cornerstone of a
building before it
is razed, no longer
capable of with-
standing mass decay.
outsiders came. the
mothers welcomed
them to the land ofrefuge that was once
pruitt igoe in name.
the fathers were not
home. the government
always has its say. they
give you money to make
you their slave. now you
are mute, hungry, nakedand without shame. now
you are addicted to
chemicals put on your
plate. a plate that shines
and blinds the knowledge
once seeping from the
hidden regions of your
closed, dark, beautifuleyes. now you do not
see clearly. you are a
blur on the map of a
world steadily crumbling,
falling to pieces, pulling
PRUITT IGOE
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you to your consummatedemise. you cannot run
from danger. you are not
lucky like the overfed
rats and multitude of
roaches that call your
home their home. they
can move; scurry from
death. you are stuck.
there is no place to go.
the grave has become
your palace. you live in
pruitt igoe.
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