#6
"ruby, my dear"

for estelle


a red candle
burning in a red
glass on a red tablecloth
in a dark corner

of a darkened nightclub,
a cigarette
burning in a red
plastic ashtray, a chesterfield
king

with lipstick red
on the end
& the smoke

from the cigarette in her eyes,
her hair is black satin
against skin of chocolate brown
or golden cream, or any of the million

gorgeous hues of american women
of african descent, purest black
to highest yellow
& every imaginable shade

in between, this is a song
to the woman in the red dress,
erzulie, or ruby
my dear

as monk would have her
pinned against the keyboard,
lush in the hips & thighs,
lush of lips & breasts,

the most beautiful ass
in the history of western civilization,
turned out over the top
of the thighs, out

to the western edge of africa
& back to the states again
to meet the small of her back,
the smell of jasmine & musk

rising from her flesh
in the closeness & warmth
of the tiny room, her eyes
so impossibly soulful

trained on the bandstand,
the band is bird,
monk on piano,
mingus & shadow wilson

at 3:00 am sunday morning,
a bottle of champagne
half drunk on the table,
the music is soft & sweet

yet as deep with intelligence
& spirit as the woman herself—
"ruby, my dear"
filling her big heart with song

—detroit
january 12 , 1985