ROLLING DOWN THAT WINDOW IN ROBERTA FLACK
Everybody’s got something to say about something I say.
I am not saying I have anything to say
but it feels like every time I open my mouth
there is another mouth
trying to get into my mouth
to mess it up.
Switchblade the teeth.
Tourniquet the tongue.
Hey, wait a minute, I try to say, it’s just words.
It’s me just making words--a blacksmith of words
making horseshoes of sentences.
Makes me think I should just shut up.
Let Roberta Flack do the talking
except she ain’t talking--
she’s whistling, moaning,
singing as slow as a blade of water
rolling down a rain soaked window.
It’s love. It’s the kind of love
I wish I knew in my life
even though I have it in my heart.
Everyone’s got something to say about that, too,
but they don’t know what to say. It’s just there,
that blade of water rolling down the window in Roberta Flack.
She’s the only one who knows anything now.
She’s the only one who knows how to talk with her dashiki and her piano.
But, I am far away from that.
We are all far away from that.
That’s why there are hurricanes.
That’s why the water on the window
smashes us to bits.
Reprinted Courtesy of Nine Mile Books.
To learn more about Matthew and his book, go here.