Ginny Webb Jun 28
It’s dark out right now and the aspens quake in
A light summer breeze
That only shakes the screens on the windows
To the east
Where the dog lies prostrate
On the grass,
The ground still warm from a sun-baked day,
The stars above like galaxies of silence
Saying nothing at all
About what we were once, perhaps:
America, the beautiful,
The merciful.

In the north, the summer night
Still brings a chill.
A breath like icy fingers
Around your neck,
Between your thighs.
“Shhh, little one. No te preocupes.
Our secret game is made of only tiny lies.
Tócame aquí”
He says, “let me do this, and perhaps,
You will be free.”
The dog pricks his ears
At something predatory,
Some scent of purgatory
Quickly descending into hell.

I think I can hear them crying
Across the miles.
Or is it the sweet breath of my tiny son
That is filled with
The desperation of some other child?
“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”
He cries, as if I am not already here,
As if my presence might allay the fears of
How many?
“A mere two thousand seven hundred children,” they say, imprisoned here.

Our old house stands,
A beacon of Americana,
Set off the muddy road out front,
Perhaps, a chicken has run loose and
The deck is set with tubs of pretty flowers
That in the evening, the falling hours,
Attract the humming of the bees.
How glorious to be free!
The spacious skies!
The fields of grain!
The lights out front, beckoning,
Come in, and bring your huddled masses!

But my old dog out front, he feels the darkness that has grabbed us.
He tastes the wind and knows
The evil that grows deep in the core
Of a country that could steal from children
All that they have ever known as home.
I will not stand by as we abuse children; as we use children as pawns. This is not an America I want to be a part of. I will not join in the xenophobia and racism. I will not lose my humanity. I pray for the children and their families. I pray for this evil administration. Please let the families be reunited. If I was ever separated from my children in this way, I would fall apart. I would die. I cannot stand it. Let it end now!
Ginny Webb Jun 5
I’m so soporific baby
With a velvet touch
I’ll lull you into ecstasy
Like spreading thighs at dusk.

I’m so soporific baby
Like melted poppies on your spine
Soak me up like whisky  
Or lick me up like wine.

I’m so soporific baby
Like an incense smoked
Drifting down your body
An unsatiated ghost.
A little sensuality and rhythm this morning :)
Ginny Webb Apr 22
These sheltered corners can’t breathe.
On purpose.
Three minutes   struggle
Five minutes       smother
Press the pain out, press the pain out, press the pain out and
Negative space      black hole atoms
Shelter in                 silence
Dark matter
Wait! Please, don’t
Breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don't
Water vapor escaping, condensing, raining
Tears cascading,
Disintegrating walls.
And I cannot hold them up.  
Sheltered corners flood.
The secrete spaces of our selves are both our freedom and our prison.
Ginny Webb Apr 10
If I could keep you safe
With only the strength of my love,
I know that you would be
Ginny Webb Mar 29
These children saw the gruesome reality
Of classmates begging for their lives
On trembling knees,
Screaming for mommy and daddy.
After all, they were only in their teens.
Still babies that
Once a mother rocked to sleep.
Now, she has a box of pictures to keep
As if dry pieces of paper are ever enough
To hold, to hug against her chest,
To try to find a space to rest her love
When all she really wants is

Because that’s where her baby is.
Because she can see them now
Cowering under desks.
These children saw it all.
Friends from kindergarten
Now backed against a wall,
And slumping in a pool of blood
Brains splattered on the floor,
Last gasps of air in punctured lungs
Still dragging their bodies towards
A bullet ridden door.

And just like Hitler laughing
While children burned in Auschwitz
You mock them.
How dare you!

Making every excuse
Because you just can’t live without the
Cold piece of metal
Some politician tells you
Embodies more truth,
Than the bodies of real children
That, if you have any integrity at all,
Should be all you need for
Ginny Webb Jan 30
How do you hold on to a blessing?

Tiny fingers and tiny toes
Wrapped in a blue cotton blanket.
The evening laughter in the hall
And the silence after
Made of living, breathing bodies,
Under a single roof and a sky
Brushed with falling stars.

And once when you were six
And sat upon your daddy's knee
And he, gazing at your mother, smiled.
A moment caught
Like a weathered painting
Upon a broken wall.
The bricks like ragged remnants
Of Rome before the fall.
Because all greatness crumbles
Because all young men stumble
Into useless, wrinkled bodies,
Raging like blind ponies
Against a locked and
Shrinking stall.

So, how do you hold on to a blessing?
And how do you even love at all?

You see, I used to count them
Like notches on an immortal tree.
Naïve, stacking each one like
Little petals from paper roses
Or brightly colored falling leaves.
Holding them tightly against my chest
Afraid that they would scatter,
As if by clutching them there I could prevent
The winter that comes after.

But I am left
Trembling in a deep and unforgiving snow
The flowers dead, the petals buried
Clutching only your picture
And that wretched question:
“Why did you go?”
For anyone who has suffered loss. I know this is pessimistic, but looking around at my beautiful little children, my family, I cringe when people say "you are so blessed," because, yes, I AM, but with that comes the knowledge that all of this is so fragile, so temporary, so illusory, and I don't want to let it go! How selfish I can be. I want to hold them all here because they complete me. Life is a series of losses, or so it seems lately. We have our memories, at least.
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