Posts for June 21, 2022 (page 7)

I’d just be glad if
My emerald tomatoes
Turned into rubies  

Happy Solstice!

		I went into myself

				once
				when the hush
				I sought

				became a rush
				and the rush
				became

				a burning
				that became
				poetry

				if you ask me
				what poetry 
				is

				I will tell you
				it is a hush
				in a dark room

				I will tell you
				it is a rush		
				of feelings

				and a stream
				that flows
				through shaded windings

				but should
				you ask me
				of the burning

                   I will tell you
				it is but a burning
				and the burning

				does not consume

At
first
glance,
she and he,
a drop of rain,
feel trickles, inter-
mittent, beads like a
ball of sweat on an anxious
brow, or is it a tear? falls to earth,
originates crisp headwaters on the
high plateau, finds fissures, ancient folds
of smooth grey matter, pools and waits, puddles
up, begins to flow, fingers tingle, rivulets gain steam 
to crest with each adjoining stream, two figures lean
and yearn, rapids churn through narrow twists of chasmic
gorges, plummet over cataracts, shifting boulders, carving
bedrock, craving oceans, spill profuse in volume 
to that fertile delta, the confluence of
consciousness, her wild
river, he dives into,
does boil, sizzle,
a lightning
bolt, fire,
water.

I’m not known to be disagreeable

Lightning bugs are emerging
from their cover in the clover.
Spreading striped wings and blinking
across the Kentucky hillside,
spelling out their secret messages 
in bioluminescent Morse code. 
When I was little, some of the cousins 
would squish them between their fingers.
Raid the full mason jars so carefully collected
and rub all that glowing magic
on their dirty, wild, faces. 
Some of the cousins would steal
that buggy brilliance, that glow. 
And I’d cry for the fireflies 
left at the bottom of the jar,
still gleaming, but out of sync. 
Still kicking fragile legs in the air, 
too touched by us to shake loose
and fly off into the night.

All that is taboo
Sex and sweat and
all manner of bodily fluids  

And Women
breasts hanging thighs rubbing
together with delight when
touched by a gentle hand  
menustrating and menopausing
bearing children or not bearing children

Tall women
short women
fat women
skinny women
Transgender women
Black women
Latinx women
Indigenous women
Asian women
Pacific Islander women
White women
All kinds of women    

What is about us that scares you so
Makes you want to pass laws turning us into chattel  

We are not chattel, appendages, trophies
We are strong and smart
and fast and beautiful
just as we are

With bodies that cry and sweat and bleed
With minds that hope and dream and ponder  
We are not chicks, girls, bitches, babes, whores
We are women
Hear us roar

Why does it take so long to load,
This page I want
To read?
It has information gleaned
From hundreds of sources,
Carefully curated and edited.
And it’s rightfully mine ’cause 
I know how
To google.
But it’s been
Ten friggin’ seconds
Already.
Do you think the pioneers woulda
Put up with this crap?

things like
years, months, days, hours–
things like this
don’t exist
in nature

they are human constructs,
made for convenience–
they do not exist 
in nature

the sun doesn’t know
it’s Tuesday, or June,
or 6:16 a.m. sunrise

to the sun, we are but 
a distant speck, a 
meaningless rock

the sun is the reason
humans can exist–
a little further away, 
and we would freeze;
much closer, 
and we would burn

God put us in
the goldilocks zone,
so we might live, 
and gave us a star
to provide
energy for humans,
animals, plants–
everything

Our climate is due to the 
activity of the sun–
human activity is not on 
a scale to meaningfully affect
an entire planet (such hubris)

As Earth is a speck to the sun,
so, too, are humans specks
to the Earth

Remember this:
the seasons are caused 
by the 23.5 degree tilt
of the Earth
as it orbits–
the part tilted away
gets winter,
the part tilted toward
gets summer

All that drastic temperature change,
caused by just a little wobble

I have always envisioned hope as feathers,
thanks to a favorite poet, but as time goes on
and life flies by
I realize that for me, hope has tendrils

As layers of life accumulate,
tendrils of hope climb and grow
when a layer of pain develops
a tendril will sprout

When a loved one spirals and
scars accumulate,
a tendril appears and will
reach for the sky

When a loved one dies
and leaves you to sort
through the ashes of life,
a tendril will shoot forth

When a heart cries out
to the one who created it,
a tendril will reach all the way
to the heart

You know those brass tacks
you’re always getting down to?
They’re so fucking sharp.