Mr. Stripey
Morgage Lifter
Cherokee Purple
a sharp knife
mayonnaise
thick sliced bread
toasted
kosher salt
red leaf
butter leaf
romaine
bacon grease spitting all over the kitchen
howling dog outside—smells
something—
hears the sizzle
scratches on the back door screen
you catch the toast as it pops up
baconlettucetomato
Need I say more?
Under a crescent moon, a woman and her young daughter
spin in gowns studded with stars. The mother combs dreams
from her hair. They break into blooms of green, orange, maroon.
Her long locks ripple out from her scalp—a golden flag, a wave
of light against inky air. Beneath their feet, a carpet of fallen stars
illume their way. A green-faced crone, skin scaly as a crocodile,
wags a crooked, bony finger, invites them closer. The mother soothes
her child’s cheek, chants a litany of constellations to dissolve evil
spells. Her lilting syllables shimmer a shield around them.
the herons
that visited the ponds on the Scott County farm
were the first I’d seen
in Kentucky
my husband and I loved them
they connected us to southern beaches
and represented our desire
to live at the shore
one crisp fall afternoon
I walked a cattle path
through the rolling yellow fields
to the back pond
wandered along the bank
near water’s edge
I saw a mass on the ground ahead
a heron lay
curled up
I walked up to its body
my heart ached with the loss
my eyes feasted on color and design
blue, black, beige feathers
full of intricate patterns
shimmering in the sun
I wanted to pluck a feather
feel the texture
save the experience
but I left the heron
resumed my walk
years later my husband passed away
I designated the heron
as a symbol for our time together
my love for him
the dreams we once held
today I live at the lake
I see herons every day
their easy grace and brilliant colors
inspire me
I feel a warm presence
then he silently flies away
These are the days I like best
where all else is put on hold
and I dwell only in this spotlight,
my world a microcosm of focus.
What is most essential?
I’m held in the hands
of what? Destiny?
Everything shimmers. All
matter stands on the sidelines watching
as I put items one by one
into the bag.
I’m leaving one world
and entering another.
Ain’t got no time
Stuck here with these blues
Ain’t got long enough arms
To tie my fucking shoes
RAWR
Festooned in stars and bars,
“Good Christian men” rejoice
With Bibles turned backward and upside down
Shouting for our nation’s greatness
Nonchalantly erasing the history of its abuses
Discounting destruction,
Ignoring inconvenient implications
Of the backs it was built on, the bloodshed and oppression that got us to this fine state.
Misplaced pride war-dances around a burning cross
Protesting examination of the chinks in sugarcoated symbols of our worst legacies
Complaining that to see their faults
To remove daily reminders of oppression
Why, that’s erasing history
And that’s not right
When the history is white.
We can never forget
America’s founding fathers and proud roots
(racism, genocide, slavery)
We can never forget
Pride in the America that chose not to be America
(Or notice the incongruence of waving the American and anti-American flag side by side).
Stepping up to unfairness is only fair game
If it’s tea and you’re lily-white disguised as “savages”
Or if your culture of noninclusion and violence is questioned
Not if it’s your actual life rather than your hate-skewed way of life at stake
Not if you’re fighting for peace of mind and equal protection instead of lingering in greed
Not if you’re trying to shine light into our nation’s dark heart instead of reveling blindly in denial
Not if you insist that we become more of what we never quite were but always wanted to believe we were.
We can never forget
Pearl Harbor, the loss of life
The Twin Towers, the loss of life
(Real enemies are never white)
(Attack the other)
Uphold the American way
Working hard for what you’ve got
Doesn’t mean you didn’t have it easier than
The guy you worked hard to threaten into compliance in a less-than-you place
Or at the very least kicked to the edge of your peripheral vision where you could ignore his pain.and struggle
Your jealousy at not having all the attention
Wars with trying to hide the parts of our heritage you actively try to sanitize
Waving fists and firearms in the air and blasting righteous anger, warning
“Best be careful not to step on toes, boy,
Or complain too loudly.”
I’m thankful for people of integrity insisting on
Interrupting our collectively whitewashed memories
I hate to tell you this, boys, but that’s the opposite of
Erasing history.
Fighting this endemic white power trip
Honoring and examining all the shades of our past,
Encompassing more voices, envisioning a future history that’s more worthy of our pride.
Nearly negligible herb,
cilantro’s less interesting cousin,
you delude yourself,
disregard it even as you observe it.
It is diminutive like
green pencil shavings,
a garnish,
quiet in its savor.
How could a single sprig swell a tongue,
close an airway, erupt hives on the skin,
and send your only
sister into anaphylaxis?
