Oddments

In search of story


8 Comments

August 4.19

Sometimes

if summer is old enough

and the leaves heavy with heat,

continuo of cicada

tricks me, and,

for so brief an instant,

I am back

in the time of bikes, grass prickles,

summer sleighbells of the ice cream man,

clothespin dolls,

clover braids,

a time when we had not yet heard of

mass shootings.

But it — that time — knew of nooses

of word and of rope.

To go back is to ask —

how could a country of lynchings

not become a country of mass shootings?

There is no perfect then.

 

 


4 Comments

Disconnections: October 29.18

 

When brutalities of day

give way

to candlelight of moon

do we find ease

and breathe

stillness?

Or do we ask

is it mere mask

for predator

conspirator

and illness?

 

 

Those of us who try to write struggle to find words for the anguish. Maybe there are none.

 


4 Comments

Connections: February 22.18

LOWER TO HALF-MAST. REPEAT.

Measured anger,

calibrated,

methodically

articulated,

sourced in heart

tempered in mind,

sentence by sentence

clearly defined.

Rage and anguish

penned halberds

change can fly

on wings of words.

 

We must, dear reader, believe that.

Connections