poem
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Each autumn, the leaves surrender in gold to the ground belowWindswept from indifferent branches they fed all summerThe waters know what it means to be battered to and froriver stones worn grief smooth by careless currentsin choreographed odysessys flocks abandon the snowand even the earth accepts the sun’s cold shoulderso why do I hold fast
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OneRed dropOf fine watercolorBlossoming summer juicy ripeOn the virgin cottony groundBurying myself deep as a seedFrom the world with a bleeding brush
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Miles of roots seekingDeep in the damp dark earthMy ability to thriveRenders me invisiblePass me by with an absent smileSee me without seeing me If I were fragileyou would know I could breakStorm ravaged, wind strippedBruised branches, bleeding sapWeeping weariness to the leaf littered layer below If I were beautifulSomeone would stopAdmire how the breeze
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Nurse brings in African violetspurple tinged with white A gift she says to all the patientsIn the maternity ward How nice I sayI’m recovering from my hysterectomyFeeling better than I thought I wouldFeeling lighter Unburdened fromSudden blood and constant painI’d waited so long to let go of this truculent uterus, my red hot poker ovaries
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Creamy white paper pad cracks openA tentative 4H draws me to the horizonfrom darkest to lightframing my perspective with dots and crosshatchesout of myself into the page in the weight of the shell on the sandcapturing light on the waterlost where the sky meets the seawax and wane of 0.5mmthe quiet drawn out in black
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I wanted to drop the baby weight. I sipped my darjeeling and passed the small pound cakes to Mags. She reached out a delicate porcelain hand. “Pass it around you skinny bitch,” I said. Mags suck out her tongue. “It’s not my fault you’re a breeder.” Cramming a whole cake in her mouth, Mags batted
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Read your post this morningThe one about that thing you likeGave you a smiley face holding a heart to show you I carebecause no one gets you like I dome just me Even shared your post on my feedThough you never share mineI saw you gave Viv’s meme a thumbs upmust be niceI follow you
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Born in a fine red brick house in the right part of townher father’s hands still rough from hard laborBehind the lace curtains of his bow front windowsher father’s hands folded in a well tailored suitShe learned to be a good daughter a leading light in all of the colored ladies clubshis smooth hand grazed
circular staircase 