The Unthinkable
Becomes the Norm
with each tap of the
hammer the plaster cracks just a little dust fills the air
chokes the
throat rolls into the darken corner a lifeless dustball
in the garden a
tender vine starts out so small
and yet can grow to
be a monster just like the little shop of horrors
creeps over the
wall hard to get rid of can take over
seems to have a mind
of its' own chokes out other plants flowers hang
like crimson tassels
early morning or
early mourning it is summer
but on this
morning there is a chill in the air one child shot
falls to the
sidewalk where he played shot
because he is
poor because he is black because he was there
because he lives in
the hood one child saved because he is white
because there is a
gate where he lives the trap was set someone stepped in
unaware of the
danger will the trap hold or will he gnaw off his leg
and free
himself the stories are diverse the mother weeps
the mist
clears the sun shines there is no happy ending here
May 29, 2016
_________________________________________________________________________
Yesterday
i am no longer
moored i have drifted away from my childhood home
washed up on a
foreign shore all day long i searched the beach
collected
shells smooth round seeds driftwood
i grew up near the
water now i call the desert home in sight of the mountain
sacred mother each morning i bless the mountain and she blesses me
the ties are
broken so many have gone there is nothing left of home
when it is
said you can't go home again it is true
perhaps there is the
street where we lived but someone else lives there now
i enter a place of
memory i remember moma's pies cooling on the back porch
crust tender and
flaky sweet tart red cherries spilling on the plate
like blood on the
sidewalk a boy shot by police in the back
a hundred
times charges dropped
mama's hug as we
left for school in memory it is always summer barefoot
sundresses bees
buzz baseball in the vacant lot
butterflies dancing
across the lawn the smell of fresh cut grass evening comes
fireflies sparkle in the low light of evening as i grow older
so much i cast
off yet there is a pact with childhood the bags i packed so long
ago
filled with
yesterdays folded neatly memories of picnics on the beach
a boy i
loved marshmallows and hotdogs roasted over an open fire
laughter the
safety of family memories come flooding back
May 28, 2016
