Tag Archives: free verse
Last year’s pretty, porcelain pot was perfect, roomy, plenty of space for her roots to settle, to meander through miracle soil soaking in tap water and raindrops. She thrived as all good potted plants are want to do, her emerald plumes leaning east toward dawn, she grew and bloomed and grew, white-tongued symbols of peace pushing from her shoots, cocoons at first, to sleepy side-eyes, opening, her prickly heart revealing…then spring, then summer…
then COVID, sheltering in, mask-clad fear-ashed faces, black souls rising from blood spattered bedrooms and spit-stained asphalt, covered in flowers, trampled by broken, fierce legions chanting, ‘ENOUGH’ under tear-gas curtains peppered with rubber bullets, vigilantes, anonymous armies looting, rising from hell to disturb the peace, hurricanes, floods, shuttered storefronts, the dead stuffed into frozen trailers, not enough soil to contain them, mourners left to mourn in absentia, single file food lines doling out bread…lies upon lies
It took only two seasons for her roots to tangle, clinging tightly to pretty pot’s edges, only two seasons for her leaves to tinge yellow, her skirt of fading fronds to wilt under the confining walls of porcelain that once cradled her. She needed my intervention, clearly unable to move, to thrive, to breathe. What a journey it has been from beaker to pot to pot to pot, and yet still, she blooms, despite my oblivious tending, despite my errant caretaking, she blooms as if to remind me that she is, and refuses to stop.
in November, I will vote
I found another pot, a roomier pot, filled it with miracle soil, untangled her roots and set her gently down in it. We will likely cross this bridge again in a season or two or more…because that’s what peace lilies do…they grow.
So this is what happens when the muse returns and the dam bursts after months of holding in, holding on. Peace my friends.
there is no drama here
no coffee-breath, he said,
she said, I heard, did you know’s,
no traffic, no rude drivers
riding my ass in a hurry to
get nowhere, no whispers,
no prying eyes, no judgment.
here, there is my desk, my
computer, tasks for the day,
routine, sun shining outside
my window, and rain, I don’t
mind it, here there is bird song,
an occasional butterfly flitting by,
it is quiet, I can breathe, I am
breathing at long last, my heart
has settled from my throat to
my chest…I could get used to
this, I have gotten used to
doing what I do without leaving
my house, relishing the freedom
of forced sheltering in place,
these walls no longer feel
confining, as they embrace me
here, safe, well, solitary bliss…
they are planning for us to
return to our cubicles, but
a part of me is hoping
I’ll not be missed
I have been asleep, Rip
Van Winkling through life
pretty in pink, golden pin-curl
locks and porcelain skin, muted,
pale, pastel privilege, oblivious
to the jewel tones that lower their
eyes when I pass by, yes, ma’am,
no, ma’am…please don’t call me
ma’am, I say, but they just smile
and whisper, yes ma’am, as
they shuffle away.
I have been asleep, yearning for
love’s kiss to wake me, warm
breath against my cheek, life is
a fairy tale, simple, sweet, but it is
a hot shallow breath that rouses
me to the nightmare, I can’t
breathe, he can’t breathe!
blood runs cold, crimson,
amidst a sea of jewels rising
from the asphalt, beautiful,
terrible, how can anyone sleep
in the shadow of this injustice,
we should do something, what
can I do? how can I help? this
has to stop, how do we make it
stop…do you see what’s happening?
please don’t call me ma’am…
I have been asleep.
#Black Lives Matter