I’ve not been the type to actually scream
over something so small
as a word
but then I’ve not been
the kind of person to dye her hair purple
on a whim
drive off shaking
my fist at the store because
they wouldn’t let me bring my own bags
it is a normalcy of strangeness
but I beg not
of discourtesy, suspicion
the repeating of these thoughts
until they take on skin
and settle in
we whiz along, or grind
jaws tight with effort
to be good and right and
happy
until we explode—
all the mess to clear up
exhausted
screaming and crying and chaos and blood
nearly always
the loom of news vans
we are no more than animals
we fear
while juncos hop along the brick
cat-scattered
squirrel descends fence
walnut bigger than its head
tight in its teeth
take your anger in both hands
and accuse them
what need of proof
beyond power
in this boiling
if you believe
all these cries will force God
to look, all this shrieking
will bring down
the devil
a poetic exercise in wanderlust
painstakingly blending
red, purple, garden thyme
to reflect fields of splendor
a cup of summer water
The last page of my yes-words journal. Pasting in hard copies of the poems…then what should I do with it?
how we remember
to keep our head
in this storm, not thrown
this way or that, smash-
happy to believe
any worst thing
all that screeching
through leaves
—let’s talk
like the trees
subterranean, feel slow
mud pulse before earth
unfurls, surface-catching
breath to turn green
or sparking red, gold
—let’s put it aside
let the wind glide
right over grateful eyes
and fingers, not even this
moment or year
or eternity
1.
Well. We know they have power
and you have sometimes said to me
That’s a strong word
when certainly I meant it.
I don’t wield them like weapons
but I try to have a point.
2.
after splurging on thought
(time travel, what life
we could know before TV)
and a surfeit of sad violins
nothing left for it
but cleaning (the deep stuff)
as if scrubbing might solve
this damned spot
Look to space—soundless,
starred fascination-deep. Silence
this clash of human cries. Let’s
sit snug and dream of drone-
delivered stuff, hash political hairs
and tell kids they don’t want
to work at McDonald’s. Let’s bash
bullying and say it’s okay
to cry over math every night
PAD Chapbook Challenge, Day 6 prompt, “We’re being watched,” touching on technology. I went a little slant, perhaps.
Graceful Press Poetry 