Everything Caribbean

Vanessa Bryant

0


By Dotsie
Isaac

Her mouth.
Frozen wide . . . in a silent scream.

Her face, a
question mark asking . . . ”What do you mean?”

Eyes . . . staring
but unseeing

Ears hearing
but not listening

Mind not
comprehending

Lungs not
expanding

Chest caving
in

On the
jackhammer that used to be her heart

This news
would tear her apart

If only she
would hear it.

A helicopter
crash

A fire in the
brush

Her husband

Her daughter

Lambs at the
altar . . . of this nasty, brutish life.

Kobe. Kobe!
Kobe!

Where you be?

And where is
Gigi?

Forty-one.
Much still undone

Thirteen.
Thirteen! Pursuing a dream

Lord, the
brevity!

And Lord, the
gravity!

Her disbelief
gets no relief

It transcends
her grief.

Vanessa
Bryant

Her Kobe was
a giant

A super hero

Stop telling
her that lie

Super heroes
don’t die

They know how
to fly

And we’ve
seen him fly, haven’t we?

Fly high
above the rim.

Defying
gravity

Surviving
injury

A Black Mamba

A venomous
member

He knows how
to survive

How to stay
alive.

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In the midst
of devastation

Vanessa is
not present

It is self-preservation

For now, she
looks back and is frozen in time

Much like
Lot’s wife, if only for a while.

A block of
salt

Tears that
will not dissolve.

Until she
finds some resolve

Inside her,
there’s an earthquake

She cannot
escape

The worst
since living in L.A.

But today,
she doesn’t run to the doorway

Today, she
doesn’t drop or seek cover.

She does not
try to hold on

Because Kobe
is gone.

Her Kobe. Met
her and made her his queen

At seventeen.

And her
beautiful, energetic, athletic, Gigi. Her second child

With a smile
as wide as the Nile

They say
she’s gone too

And she does
not know what to do

So she
stands, a gathering storm of unshed tears

Unable or
afraid to confront her fears

Death did
find them knowing they were dying.

Did she
scream, “Daddy!”? Was she crying?

It is the
instinct of a father to protect his daughter

Was he able
to hold her?

To console
her?

What is she
to do with . . . this?

All of . . . this?

Her hurt. Her
loss. Some call it pain

But what
she’s feeling has no name

Vanessa
stands rooted in a timeless space

Her dark hair
framing her widow’s face

Latina eyes .
. . staring but unseeing

Unbelieving
ears hearing but not listening

Mind not
comprehending

Lungs not
expanding

Chest caving
in

On the jackhammer that used
to be her heart

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