Posts for June 22, 2020 (page 3)

“How does he get away with that?”
“That’s sickening!”
“That’s awful!”
“I can’t believe he said that!”
“Oh my god!”
“How in the hell did this happen?

”Just daily words, said by me,
About Trump 

I was terribly upset the day he got elected
Sick to my stomach
It opened a racist gate
And a pride in the local conservatives
To look you in the eye at the laundromat
And tell you,
“You don’t belong.”
I said nothing
Just a simple shake of the head
While the news was on

Kentucky’s a red state
But I vote blue every time
I’m a Democratic Socialist
I vote for the morally correct
Not for money 

I usually wish for the same thing every night, but tonight I wished to see the Mediterranean. Longing to cross oceans and explore unfamiliar terrain is nothing new for me, but something about longing for a coastline so shrouded with the echoes of history feels so different and so profound now. Nearly every aspect of my life as it stands now feels so unprecedented, so unexpected. How would it feel, even then, to have access to a coastline that once cradled countless ancient sailors and inspired epic poetry? To have overcome, and to stand proudly, staring straight out into the depths?

If only there were a contraption
alike dreamcatcher’s task
seizing brilliance in subconscious
making pearls from mere sand

The beaches of the mind
sparkling with innovation
redefining “clamming up”
transforming creation

crow hops lightly
across an empty road  

thinks she’s watched over
by God like every sparrow  

with dignity and a soul
deserving of salvation  

with a special role to play 
in the Garden of Eden  

with yolk of a robin’s egg
dripping from her beak

the truth of survival
is this raw mood of rage.
the tower fell like words on deaf ears.
sometimes you have to speak in flames
for people to hear the heat.

Vinegar does not
transform into tea
just because 
you serve it 
in a fancy cup.

Boiling Water, also known as 
Mature For Her Age,
remembers that her real name is 
Foaming At The Mouth, 
and not Wise Beyond Her Years. 

hear the wrong name often enough and
you forget all the sharp teeth in your mouth,
forget you’re Girl not Woman, 
forget that you need Help not Dick. 
 
once we’ve grown Big and Sour and Selfish, 
all of our pseudonyms will still be warm 
when the next girl puts them on.

we want to believe 
in a higher place
that we go to
when we die
and it’s possible
to communicate
as ghosts
hope that leylines
of the spiritual
power can be
exposed

the only message
from the dead
has been on repeat
from the very beginning
we don’t have time for this
we don’t have time for this
we don’t have time for this
we don’t have enough time
to waste 
on those things
that hurt us
but we can’t 
even 
let go
of the things
that’s killing us

We give our sons masks early
They don them with glee
We are training our baby boys
To bear the weight of their masks without questioning
The discomfort as those masks weigh heavier every year

Is it any wonder when our men
Trained from birth to wear a mask will not
Set it aside for even one intimate conversation
And cannot bear the weight and pressure
Of one more mask to save our lives

My fathers fourth visit after his death
was a meeting in the middle
The middle is an endless concrete city
half constructed and unnoccupied
I picked him up in his car,
rather than the other way around
Because you can’t take you car with you when you die or drive it there
He got in on the passenger side
(For the first time)
He needed a ride
but couln’t tell me the destination
As always he was unable to speak
So we just made the rounds in silence
Until I dropped him off where we started and then woke myself
as if I had finished an errand