I will sit here until
the water comes to boil
the sun becomes too hot to bear
the robins collect two together on the dogwood branch
Monthly Archives: April 2015
I Can’t Hide Mine, Please Don’t Hide Yours: An Open Letter to Ben Affleck
“The People of Russell’s Knob were a blended soup of colors after a couple of generations and made their own circumstance.”
from “Angels Make Their Hope Here”
Dear Ben,
Its unfortunate because of a massive internet hack we are in this particular place discussing your ancestral past. It’s horrible that your private matters were exposed because of something beyond your control. That’s untenable in any situation, but we need to address something right quick…this slavery thing. You were embarassed, and that’s reasonable given the situation and the circumstances that produced it. But Ben Affleck, take it from a Black guy; with a platform like yours, don’t you dare be embarrassed to come from an ancestor who held enslaved people. Because….We need to know.
I don’t think many Black people really understand the profound guilt, shame or embarassment some white descendants of slave holding families feel. It’s not just that many assume personal responsibility for the past or that they grasp that their privilege or power is not just based on perceptions based on skin color. Clearly these…
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Suddenly
our sidewalk trees
surprise
they are abloom
pink
I had not noticed
buds
two little girls were cavorting
hair flying out back of them
loose limbed and carefree
Look! Listen! Stop!
The Buck in the Snow – Edna St. Vincent Millay
White sky, over the hemlocks bowed with snow,
Saw you not at the beginning of evening the antlered buck and his doe
Standing in the apple-orchard? I saw them. I saw them suddenly go,
Tails up, with long leaps lovely and slow,
Over the stone-wall into the wood of hemlocks bowed with snow.Now he lies here, his wild blood scalding the snow.How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers
The buck in the snow.
How strange a thing–a mile away by now, it may be,
Under the heavy hemlocks that as the moments pass
Shift their loads a little, letting fall a feather of snow–
Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.
Saw you not at the beginning of evening the antlered buck and his doe
Standing in the apple-orchard? I saw them. I saw them suddenly go,
Tails up, with long leaps lovely and slow,
Over the stone-wall into the wood of hemlocks bowed with snow.Now he lies here, his wild blood scalding the snow.How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers
The buck in the snow.
How strange a thing–a mile away by now, it may be,
Under the heavy hemlocks that as the moments pass
Shift their loads a little, letting fall a feather of snow–
Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.
Five
Robbing in the park this morning
He is a thief of life – of earthworms
A black-hatted, tomato-shaped, tomato-colored predator
He is not after seeds or bread crusts – Remember that!
He is a hunter of worms and he stalks them until they wriggle toward sunlight.
Three for Five, April
Robins in the park this morning
Female robins roosting in sisterly pairs
In adjoining trees
Four making song and whinny calls
Each is soft, rust breasted with a dull gray Easter duster, dull gray head
Easy to miss the stomach-spotted youngsters
Two on Fourth Day of April
Robin’s in the park this morning
eating voraciously on
easy worms after the rain
fat, sassy, haughty
full of the unfortunate un-earthed
Reading, Writing and Appreciating Poetry Month
One on Three of April, 2015
The day turned dark at noontime. (they said it always – it doesn’t – does)
26 years ago, Good Friday was earlier
Don’t believe in direct conversation with a divine . . . understand?
Is a comfort in learned lines though
Oh, Lord! Oh, oh, oh! Oh my god! Uh, uh, uh!
Hail, Mary, full of disappointment.
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