The Nudge of the Refugee

pink-lily-bud.jpg

 

Taught to remain dead from the womb,

she walks among tombs, whitewashed

crypts concealing skeletal remains

of 1,000 generations, closets clammy

.

and fungal. She bites the apple

of her ancestors which, ever since

Newton wed Granny Smith, dictates

a hard fall. The System says, ‘Stay! Be

.

at home with Depravity, shake hands

with Despair! Dry bones can but rattle,

dead men can but dance.’ But she feels the

nudge of the Refugee, the rebellion of

.

soiled skin; when she opens her eyes

to Truth, she finds her mantle is but a

rented chrysalis. When they take the final

tally, her casket will be an empty husk,

.

with hinges rusted like dry blood, an

apple seed rooted through its temple.

Laughing at Gravity, she will rise

on the wings of the dawn, emancipated.

 

.

Magic Snow-Globe

delphinium seed head

Window to a netherworld,

a looking-glass of white;

crisply permed and freshly curled,

a monochrome delight.

Wait upon the windowsill

for handsome Prince and horse;

magic snow-globe, if you will,

please whisk me to your source.

Open the Gates

Image courtesy of El Bueno, El Malo y el Feo

Open the gates,

Let down the door,

My enemy follows

To even the score.

I beg for asylum,

For safety within,

So open the gates,

And let me come in!

**********************

The name of the Lord is a strong tower…”

My High Chair

You laid your trap well.

You set your sights on flesh and took aim,

firing,

shooting to kill.

You have enjoyed your sport,

this hunting of easy prey,

this establishing of territory and who is right

and why I’m always wrong.

But in my terror I looked up –

and saw a chair

perched high

far above the drama and rules,

and I climbed and climbed

(although I’m afraid of heights)

and here I sit.

I am above you now,

above your taunts

and accusations

and lies.

 I look down on you

from my perch in the clouds,

and I laugh.

Because you look so silly

scurrying around like that,

ant-like in your madness,

searching for me in the swamp

where you make your home.

You don’t know yet

that I am up here,

in my high chair.

You don’t know yet that from this vantage point

I don’t need to play your game by your rules anymore.

From here, I can touch the sky…