Naked in plain sight
Mortifying and holy
To be truly seen
To stare at a bowl of fruit
To become intimately aware of a pear's curves,
The pores of a lemon peel.
The velvet of a peach.
To meditate for hours on the shadows of grapes.
I long to stare at a bowl of fruit.
To hear nothing but wind and paint strokes.
I will not conform
Contort myself in a cage
I'll fly, arms outstretched.
I can breathe again
I once choked on your poems
Laced with arsenic
Does it ever leave?
The voice which says "No, girl."
"This joy ain't for you."
There is a plot of land near my home which once housed an abundance of flora and fauna.
Turtles, birds, rabbits, snakes, wild dogfennel, pines, periwinkles, alamandas and southern river sage thrived in this space which now boasts only an open plot of beige mounds, cement cylinders, and monstrous machines.
I grimace at its "progress" daily.
Across the street, a large patch of wildflowers sit up and gaze upon this scene.
Day after day,
Erupting from the blue-eyed grass,
A family of spanish needle
and Mexican petunias
turn their blooms toward the beeping and the clunking of machines.
White peacock butterflies and red-tipped dragonflies dance around the feeding bees. I'd like to be like the flowers. To bloom rebelliously in the face of greed and destruction. Even though soon, they will be gone too.
Swirls of fragrant steam
Rise from its porcelain well
A cup of love, made.