things visibly invisible

A change came over the
playground in the early stages of the setting sun.

My daughter trips, bouncing off the old tires and sneakers glued into the multicolored mat, a few cries go out, and an almost imperceptible but definite shift in the quality of light, timbre of children's voices, the air itself slowing, dissolves into the consensus to head home.

----

A collective culture of fear borne of guilt.

Guilt borne of land theft, and the as of yet unacknowledged atrocities of mass murder, rape and pillage.

The debts of slavery, Black and White, transforming the stolen land into a stolen promise.

Why would you not constantly fear death and theft if they were the foundations you built your house upon?

----

She, she being the all knowing all seeing, I, in eye, in I, frowns.

foolish sleep! foolish self pity! the work goes slowly, when the workers fumble for their tools, frost on their fingers, and bigger dreams than the task before them tugging at their souls.

Down by the river the trees grow thick out from under the fallen leaves. It was a sight to see, the honeysuckle rampant over the red cedar, the cardinals oh so red against frost whitened tangled vines, gorging on the berries of the poison ivy vine.

Rocks gnash the churning water, and the air breathes out from the land, a million little beetles eating the fungus eating the trees eaten by trees again and again over and under the resounding rush of water.

words heal us as wounds fester - the redeeming promise of plenty for every
one, masks our collective plunder.

half a poem for a friend

this is,

half a poem.

normally, unpunctuated, I am late, but today, I am early.

waiting for nothing to happen, again and over again, while the wind tugs at the tulip poplars, their

face sized leaves slowly being eaten by the ground.

the red clay sticks to my feet, and the little quartzes, rounded by countless glaciers and good ole

grandfather/mother time, are frozen in the shade.

see?

Oi told you it was half a poem.

untitled no. 4 (found while looking for the login info to file a tax return)

they were mining the past, churning deep into its depths and extracting the raw material of the future.

his memories were disappearing, all those familiar faces, familiar places, his family, moments of bliss and sorrow were slipping into the bright light of tomorrow.