into the Bible. You know Louise was
Always into the Old Testament. Your
Mama come home I’m going to tell her
About the Old Testament. Genesis, and
All that. We ain’t had a family talk for
A while, but when she come home
We need to have us one. Get into the
Bible, and all that.”
“She got twenty-five years, Miss Ruby.”
JUNICE AMBERS looking from the WINDOW of the BUS
We drone along the faceless highway
That is the history of my life
Telephone poles, light poles, pretending
Differences, pretending they are not the
Thousand pages etched of who I am
Each episode was written by somebody
With my dark face, my broad back,
Mama, Miss Ruby, how far back do we go?
Did some Bantu gap-toothed woman
Rise one bright morning
And march willingly to the shore?
To the waiting ships?
We are on the Thruway
Miss Ruby, her mind slipping in and out
Of Knowing, chatters on while Melissa,
My sweet Melissa who already
Knows how to weep without
Tears, leans against the hard window
Passing neon lights play across
Her pretty face, her sadness
The trial is over, the sentence read There are no comforts to share
No songs to ease our sorrow
Only the long bus ride home
LESLIE AMBERS in BEDFORD HILLS PRISON
What are they doing to me? To me?
Groping and groping, reaching to see
If I have hidden my soul somewhere
Between my legs, not seeing it puddle
On the cracked grout floor
Of this steel tomb
They are calling this my forever home
“Hide your body along the green-gray
Walls,” they say
“So we cannot see your crime-ugly face.”
But I know they see everything
They want me not to see myself
But I must, I am desperate to see
My image, my wild eyes searching
For the high of being me again
Of being Leslie, of evoking
Ambers
On the streets of the city
They have taken my Who-I-Am
As well as my What-I-Was
And now I am desperate for them both
Again
“Hey, Princess 649178,
Time to Bend and Grin!”
“Why she think she a princess?”
“Hey, Princess, you got any children?”
“I have two daughters
The oldest is named Junice.”
“Shut up! We don’t care about your dumb family!”
“But you asked—”
“Yeah, but we don’t care.
And neither do you, or you wouldn’t be in here!”
Where is my daughter? Where is Junice?
Why doesn’t she come flying through the walls
Screaming in rage and fury because of
What they are doing to me, to me.
Why doesn’t she break this darkness into
A thousand crumbling fragments
And lift me over the razor wire cliffs
Of my despair?
Where is Miss Ruby, my mother,
With her roots and spells
Where are the black candles
That spell death to my enemies?
Perhaps they are on their way
Perhaps they are at the gates
“Shut up! We don’t care about your dumb family!”
“But you asked—”
“Yeah, but we don’t care.
And neither do you, or you wouldn’t be in here!”
I care, I have always cared
Really.
JUNICE tells her STORY at the FAMILY WELFARE BUREAU
There was a time
When I thought of my life as a journey
Knowing somewhere there would be a place
At which I would Arrive and be
Beautiful
On clear days, if I shielded my eyes
Just right and squinted into the distance
I could almost see the station’s sign
Bold and shining on a summer-green hill
But none of that was true
There were no tracks climbing
Like a silver arrow toward a place called
Future. No friendly tower or friendly faces
Eager for my appearance
No, it is all cycle and recycle
What the great-grandmother has done
Is to rut the earth for her children
What the grandmother has done
Is to widen the furrow for her children
What the mother has done
Is to square the pit
Deepening it for the ritual to come
And here I sit, grave deep among the
Waiting worms, staking my claim
As they stake theirs.
What do I want, you ask
What do I whisper to God
In the early mornings?
Only to keep Melissa safe
To hold her close
Away from the past, away from
The expectation
Always into the Old Testament. Your
Mama come home I’m going to tell her
About the Old Testament. Genesis, and
All that. We ain’t had a family talk for
A while, but when she come home
We need to have us one. Get into the
Bible, and all that.”
“She got twenty-five years, Miss Ruby.”
JUNICE AMBERS looking from the WINDOW of the BUS
We drone along the faceless highway
That is the history of my life
Telephone poles, light poles, pretending
Differences, pretending they are not the
Thousand pages etched of who I am
Each episode was written by somebody
With my dark face, my broad back,
Mama, Miss Ruby, how far back do we go?
Did some Bantu gap-toothed woman
Rise one bright morning
And march willingly to the shore?
To the waiting ships?
We are on the Thruway
Miss Ruby, her mind slipping in and out
Of Knowing, chatters on while Melissa,
My sweet Melissa who already
Knows how to weep without
Tears, leans against the hard window
Passing neon lights play across
Her pretty face, her sadness
The trial is over, the sentence read There are no comforts to share
No songs to ease our sorrow
Only the long bus ride home
LESLIE AMBERS in BEDFORD HILLS PRISON
What are they doing to me? To me?
Groping and groping, reaching to see
If I have hidden my soul somewhere
Between my legs, not seeing it puddle
On the cracked grout floor
Of this steel tomb
They are calling this my forever home
“Hide your body along the green-gray
Walls,” they say
“So we cannot see your crime-ugly face.”
But I know they see everything
They want me not to see myself
But I must, I am desperate to see
My image, my wild eyes searching
For the high of being me again
Of being Leslie, of evoking
Ambers
On the streets of the city
They have taken my Who-I-Am
As well as my What-I-Was
And now I am desperate for them both
Again
“Hey, Princess 649178,
Time to Bend and Grin!”
“Why she think she a princess?”
“Hey, Princess, you got any children?”
“I have two daughters
The oldest is named Junice.”
“Shut up! We don’t care about your dumb family!”
“But you asked—”
“Yeah, but we don’t care.
And neither do you, or you wouldn’t be in here!”
Where is my daughter? Where is Junice?
Why doesn’t she come flying through the walls
Screaming in rage and fury because of
What they are doing to me, to me.
Why doesn’t she break this darkness into
A thousand crumbling fragments
And lift me over the razor wire cliffs
Of my despair?
Where is Miss Ruby, my mother,
With her roots and spells
Where are the black candles
That spell death to my enemies?
Perhaps they are on their way
Perhaps they are at the gates
“Shut up! We don’t care about your dumb family!”
“But you asked—”
“Yeah, but we don’t care.
And neither do you, or you wouldn’t be in here!”
I care, I have always cared
Really.
JUNICE tells her STORY at the FAMILY WELFARE BUREAU
There was a time
When I thought of my life as a journey
Knowing somewhere there would be a place
At which I would Arrive and be
Beautiful
On clear days, if I shielded my eyes
Just right and squinted into the distance
I could almost see the station’s sign
Bold and shining on a summer-green hill
But none of that was true
There were no tracks climbing
Like a silver arrow toward a place called
Future. No friendly tower or friendly faces
Eager for my appearance
No, it is all cycle and recycle
What the great-grandmother has done
Is to rut the earth for her children
What the grandmother has done
Is to widen the furrow for her children
What the mother has done
Is to square the pit
Deepening it for the ritual to come
And here I sit, grave deep among the
Waiting worms, staking my claim
As they stake theirs.
What do I want, you ask
What do I whisper to God
In the early mornings?
Only to keep Melissa safe
To hold her close
Away from the past, away from
The expectation
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