On the Other side: For Pearl Cleage

MY lover once informed me that miles davis was a real man 'cause he didn't
take no shit.
He always knew where his WOMAN was,
underneath
his heel.

So after a while, I began to wonder every time MY lover would beat the shit
out of ME,
did miles davis beat the shit out of his WIFE?

Did he scream in HER face in restaurants?
Did he kick HER in the stomach or slap HER in the street?
Did he call HER bitch over and over and over . . . ?

Gently he would place the needle on the record
Sketches of Spain, MY lover would play;

Wishing that the songs would end so that I could bleed in peace.

And I wondered, did miles davis beat the shit out of his WIFE while
recording
Live in Paris: A Return to Romance?

Was SHE frantically packing HER bags for the
last
time
while he composed songs that made jazz cats shiver and say,

Damn, how does he do that?

Was SHE suicidal hiding in HER basement while he joked with the police?

Are they the reason why I don't dial 911 every time MY lover beats the shit
out of ME?

Is MY lover the reason Kind of Blue make ME vomit because he drags ME
back to the time that I
needed stitches in the back of MY head and could find no one to take ME to
the hospital?

I wondered, could miles davbis beat the shit out of his WIFE and still be the
world's greatest
trumpet player?

Could his WIFE still be a WOMAN of courage and sanity to leave a "genius"
because SHE had
had enough humiliation and embarrassment?

Because SHE did not want to be raped by him and his music every
waking
exhausting
agonizing
dawn?

Could MY lover still be a man even though he heat the shit our of ME and
promised to kill ME if
I left?

I wondered did miles davis express these same sentiments to his WIFE
while accepting
Grammys, sipping champagne, and playing with Coltrane?

from bum rush the page: a def poetry jam Ed. Tony Medina and Louis Reyes Rivera (Three Rivers Press; NY) 2001