My third book of poems came back from the printer yesterday. 15 poems. I’m very pleased with the result. I only wish Latona, my old friend, could see it. We lost contact over 20 years ago and I have no Idea where she is. She could still be in a part of London, the Northwest, that I never visit, so the chances of bumping into her are slim. I was very sick the last time I saw her and barely able to keep up a relationship. The white people didn’t rebuild it so we reached the end of the road.
I feel she is with me all the time, though. I still write about her – in my next book, Not Totally Wicked, coming out shortly there are poems about her. Here’s one:
LATONA Mother of Artemis and Apollo Who killed Niobe’s seven children When she dared insult Latona’s beauty I once knew a prostitute of that name Proud wise and beautiful I hear her every day Whispering in my left ear Taking off curses Putting them back the right ones Mother of my heartstrings