Posts for June 12, 2020 (page 2)

This is the wall where they lined up the civilians, what it looks like now, generations later, years of cleaning and painting and advertising posters for films and bath soaps and circuses later. In the picture from then I count thirty-one people turned to face the cold bricks, although there may be a few more obscured by the closeness of the row. They stand erect, arms raised high as if these weren’t adults and children, real as the foggy air they breathe, but cartoon creations ready to take flight. There is trash, once prized possessions and important papers, between them and the off-camera soldiers, left after pockets and purses were emptied. A moment from now, the guns will be fired, but I didn’t give the order or squeeze a trigger, and so am free of guilt. I simply stood by silently.  

Today she will go out.
Brushes and shades lead to wide eyes in the mirror. 
She slips on her wedges, slips out of the house and takes off.
Bass thumping, 80mph of pure freedom, she’s anyone she wants to be. 
It feels good to be alone.
6 speeds of revving engine at the light, she feels eyes upon her.
A 10 second hold.
Slowly outlining full lips with her favorite colors, she winks, blows a kiss, and the light turns green.
It good to feel beautiful.

The Muse is silent.
I try to push words
From my head
Through the pen
To paper.

I write with no verve;
An obligatory stanza
To meet the commitment.
Like saying the Pledge of Allegiance
At the beginning of the school day.

It serves its purpose,
But does not fulfill its promise.
Empty. Parroting.
Until another day,
When the Muse speaks.

It was early,
and I walked on alone.
As the grey streets rocked past

I focus on a constellation
of magnolia blossoms first
opening – they’ll close up
overnight, repeat this show
only once or twice. Beyond
the viewfinder, green to white
buds mix with massive blooms
in diverse shades and phases
of permanent wide-openness:
creamy petals turning brown,
catching fallen stamens – all
on a palette of broad evergreen
leaves. A time lapse flowering
panoply – dawn to disintegration.

The moist, crisp snap like a pickle spear
no bug bites, nearly string-less
broken into bite-sized cylinders
cooked with strips of thick bacon
and hunks of potatoes just like

my grandma used to make
Fresh garden green beans simmered
to perfection snap me

back to a simpler time
sitting on the front porch by her side
breaking beans to can

preserving nourishment for a future
time–expiration date

limitless

seeds planted 
words written and spoken alike
to her great-greats

lasting bites

don’t ask me what you need to do
don’t expect me to feel anything when you cry
don’t ask me for hugs
don’t look to me for approval
don’t ask me why it’s happening
don’t say a word to me 

i’ve heard your story before

And how is it that
even on days such as those – 
with pouring rain for hours, 
seperating us with a curtain of water –
that the sun and the light find a way in?

Is all joy found alongside small sacrifices – 
of time, of other –
or can we, too, build structures that last?

Brown cardboard boxes contain:
• neat beige bandages

Stray too much off-path,
game over. The makers want
their story, not yours.