For Rebecca

Ten years is a long time
and I have missed you.
I thought of this
this morning as I commenced making
a splendid (it turned out) frittata.
You taught me how to do this. After ten years during
which I assumed you did not cook — time stops
when we are absent —
you stood in my kitchen and casually,
speaking of something trivial,
made the most mouthwatering
frittata. It did not stick, it did not burn,
it was not soggy on top
it was good!
During those same ten years
I tried to make frittatas but feared they’d never cook
all the way through; all the way to the top.
But no, watching you closely, I saw
when yours threatened to remain a bit mushy
you calmly transferred it to the oven,
which I thought would surely burn it.
But — not!
Out it came the perfect consistency.
Delicious!
I was in awe.
And so, today, I think: it is all the simple
times of sharing simple things
that I have missed. The mutual teaching and learning
that is, or should be, a daughter’s and a mother’s right.

Of course he said nigger
You would too
If you hung out with the niggers
He surrounds himself with
When you’re not looking,
In all their gold chains
Wristwatches
And teeth. That’s how
they talk.
Grow up.
Stop talking
About “the N word”
As if it is more important
Than the countries
He bombs
Or the children
He starves.

Nigger has a meaning
You would have to live
Lifetimes
To comprehend.

It would never submit
To the phony “N word”;
So current among those who
Wish to “do the right thing”
By covering up America:
An effort that makes you
Culpable and dishonest
Every time you do it.

We might as well call a Spade
A Spade or should we say
“the ‘S’ word”?
Didn’t know about that one,
Did you?

Niggers have at least one
Honorable tradition,
No matter how many
Gold nooses, chains, and shackles
They wear.
They have never endangered a planet
Or even destroyed part of one.
Most still respect children.
Why not simper as you say:
“The N.N. (Non Nigger) word”
And go off in that fruitful direction
Of who not to offend:
Then we might all
Sleep better
At night.

A poem in solidarity with Dareen Tatour, poet in Palestine, prisoner in Israel. Our double-speak is as bad.

When the President of the United States
Calls a black woman a dog
We understand he lacks the courage
To say what he means: bitch.
But this is where we are
As a nation of cowards,
As we follow a person,
Who, as Omarosa warns us,
Is falling over a cliff.
His thumb near a button
That might annihilate us all.
His anger certain to be taken out
On the children and their parents,
Grandparents, housing and food stores,
In Korea and Iran.
Syria, and other places too.
As well as on black people everywhere
Whose feelings he consistently ignores
And hurts.

Lucky for dogs
They do not feel this pain.
They go about their business
Same as always:
An eternity of kindness
In their expressive eyes;
Aeons of concern and helpfulness;
Offerings of joy
In every Age.

Dogs are the winners here
On Earth I think.
They know what is
Apparently impossible
For many humans to learn:
That there exists
A kind of free Goodness
In the soul that gives up
All pretense
Of being more of or better than:
A kind of free happiness
In being creatures
With nothing to hide.

Written in defense of dogs everywhere. And
of women, everywhere. See Unhinged: An
Insider’s Account of the Trump White
House by Omarosa Manigault Newman