This Poem is Privileged
It can assert itself about “beauty,”
things like hikes, gardens:
white roses climb the ladder
in full sun.
It can agonize about “hardship:”
The oil stain has soaked
into the concrete and won’t
pressure wash away.
It can hide from the candid: Police murdered Breonna Taylor in her sleep.
It can speak metaphorically
all it wants:
Would you look at this hemlock? It grows
and grows in my own
backyard;
a territorial common loon just stabbed
a bald eagle right
through the heart.
2 thoughts on "This Poem is Privileged"
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Whoa! Yes!
No wonder we’re friends–we both love avian symbolism.