I slipped out in the darkness, fumbled with my shoes under the yellow light of the street
Lamp. A pebble picked up from the sidewalk bruised the tender skin of my heel as I
Hobbled down the middle of our street guided only by memory and the full moon’s
Shine. I imagined foxes and deer watching over me as I crept through the dark,
Waking to find myself standing in my own bathroom surrounded by clothes sorted
For washing. Perhaps I should refrain from eating spicy foods too close to bedtime.
I wanna be a poet, a word slinger extraordinaire. Instead I’m a mimic, pacing
Off the steps, gimping up the line behind the real deal. Authenticity has meaning in rhyme’s
World. Weighty phrases loaded with innuendo and innocent declarations of true love.
Give me shelter, hoist me high, let me trade these paltry phrases for a silver plated platter.
A rose by any other name would still wilt and die, and therein lies the inherent problem: Reality.
I marched in the rain
With thousands of
Like-minded people
My tears fell as I
searched for parking
Joyful that it was
IMPOSSIBLE given the
Number of women and men
Of ALL ages and colors
Who joined their voices
In support of women’s
Inalienable rights.
Democracy in action.
My ball gown was a poncho,
My stilletos, tennis shoes.
Trump, in your ivory tower,
Heed this, our cry:
Women’s rights are Human
Rights! Liberty for one;
Liberty for ALL.
My friend Julie and I were about midway in the long line of people that stretched from Railroad Park up the hill to Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University (FAMU). Estimates indicate more than a thousand people took to the streets to express our fervent plea that women’s rights and the rights of minorities be honored in this new administration.
Rain fell intermittently, but spirits were high. Nothing could dampen the glow of democracy in our midst.
You stand on the corner of
Climate Change and Rising Seas
In the neighborhood of Zika,
Deep in the heart of
Nuclear Destruction.
Wave to North Korea’s crazy
Dictator across the Ocean of
Despair, one insult away from
Gracing us with a big, bad bomb
And a centuries deep winter.
Curtsy to Putin, our Russian pal,
His KGB ties beside the point.
Stand in bread lines with comrades
All. Take time to learn Cyrillic
Script for future reference.
Stockpile bandages and canned
Goods. Be sure to save the books and
Works of art. Listen, you won’t Remember when the boots come stomping And the knock comes in the night.
Monochrome memories from way back, when all my dresses were shapeless plaid shirtwaists,
Three for ten dollars from the Sears and Roebuck catalog. I was a thrifty kid, poring over the
Thrift section searching for the best buys so Mom didn’t have to. My brothers could own
Five striped cotton crewneck t-shirts for a bundled price, as well. I circled the best deals in
Crayon, then waited for the order to arrive, always hoping that at least one of my new
Dresses would surprise me by featuring a full skirt and a crinkly petticoat like Debbie Reynolds
Wore. Disappointment never interfered with my attempts to twirl in a simple cotton dress.
My dresses were never this cute. ^^^
After your heartfelt speech I started a slow clap, but no one joined in. The saddest
Part was that you deserved every accolade, but my attempt fell short and silence
Reigned. Is there anything more damning than the sound of nothing reverberating around a hall?
Later, at the soirée we held hands and danced languidly to the strains of a small jazz combo.
Smoke Gets in your Eyes took little of the sting away. You still felt the absence of applause.
Don’t
Mistake me for a reasonable person. I’m too angry, too burned by the lies you’ve told carelessly.
How could you be so cavalier? The propaganda you’ve turned into incontrovertible
Truths will be the end of us all. This is the way the world will cease, not with a bang, but a
Tweet.
Flying
Lickety-split
Under the lights
Tight circles
Tenaciously,
Ecstatically,
Rapaciously
Weightless
Intense
Nocturnal
Gallivanting
Balloons did the trick, one attached to each arm, two more tied on to my swollen ankles,
and thanks to a stout wind I was on my way up. I tried to wave to the crowd below,
but the motion caused a disruption in the airflow and briefly I found myself wobbling
precariously. Acknowledging the accolades would have to wait until I mastered control.
Deep inside the story, past the start of the beginning, but before the middle of the end
When the boy has met the girl, and kissed the girl, but not yet lost the girl, that’s my favorite part.
The waters are still calm and the wide open skies are blue. Conflict sits on a shelf by the door.
At the end of the middle, she is still his. There’s been no misunderstanding, no complicated,
Convoluted, comical slash and parry. Only long, hungry looks and a shared danish.
Praying for Eyebrowz 