Like a woman reading
In her soft, quilted bed,
With warm, golden lamp light
Glowing ’round her head,
So do fall’s fading flowers
Of Albion’s alpine meadows shine
As they show off late beauty
At sunset, one last time.
For soon a warm blanket,
Soft, deep and white,
Will form a safe coverlet
And protect them both at night.
Then, the brightness of morning and spring
Will amaze the eyes with the beauty waking brings.
Today I got an email from a relative, entitled “How to catch Obama”. It shows a box trap with a watermelon attached to the trigger.
Having just seen the movie “The Help”, I can only agree with Malcolm X, who wrote that the deepest, worst prejudice doesn’t come from the South, but is hidden in the North … until it is exposed.
To smell prejudice,
don’t search deep in Southern swamps.
Mother’s emails reek.
I did not see them
When I shot the video
Of thousands of flags
In a Utah field,
Each representing
a lost 9/11 victim.
But when I was editing,
They were there.
Ghosts.
Shadows dancing in and out
Of the flags.
Wives.
Fathers.
Sons.
Daughters.
Husbands.
Mothers.
First responders.
People.
Laughing.
Crying.
Holding.
Walking.
Talking.
Those who were remembering
Became they who must
be remembered.
We must be ghosts
To each other,
To haunt ourselves
into remembering,
so we never forget.
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ZWz2qyvelI]
“Do you want children?” the question asked.
Over that small detail I’m taken to task?
Would I like them in her house?
Would I like them with her X-spouse?
Would I like them in her room?
Would I like them in her womb?
Would I like them here or there?
Would I like them anywhere?
Where I’d like them, I could not know!
I just try to go with the flow!
And I decry ambiguity.
At least, it seems that way to me.
For if I, to that question, say “No!”,
then women with children could turn and go,
as would women, certainly,
who were waiting, mothers-to-be.
But I’d not exclude them for that choice.
Being good partners means both have a voice.
And thus, the answer of open/uncertainty,
seems to fit, I think, the openness of me.
Thank you. I’m glad you listened;
and now my poem is at an end.
Except for this small thought before I part:
Wouldn’t you like a man whose heart,
soul, and mind
are open, generous, giving, and kind?
Who won’t disqualify before he starts?
Rehearsals don’t work./
Your real life’s audition and/
audience await.
“Live the moment” Good./
I will be spontaneous./
Check your calendar.