i wonder, at what age
you became out of my reach;
i wonder, if i even
tried reaching for you

i know that history leaves its mark on everyone
(but not many have been hurt by the tracks
left behind in the dirt
like you have)

you can sit there for days, weeks, months
while we contemplate your fate,
tossing the choices in our hands
like dice

you hear the word expendable
mumbled in countless conversations
and wonder, at what age
you became in our reach

you think of the family you left behind
and hope they will find their way to tennessee
to a better life that is  
quiet. peaceful.

will they miss your selflessness;
your keen, incisive way with words;
the bumps and hills of your rough skin;
the smell of your perfume?

i miss your evergreen smile;
your poetry;
your skin against mine;
the wonder in your eyes

If I was asked to put
the world right, here
is what I would do.

I would remove the
equator, it should not
have been put there.

It’s as insignificant as
Egalite, in the French
trilogy of 1789, or the

white peace chevron
on Irelands flag between
the green and the orange.

Cork stops, the Atlantic
Ocean flooding our planet,
I would give Ireland an award.

Finally, I would ban the use
of le, la, une and un, in the
French language, ils sont sexistes.



                                  


Ps.

Bon Matin Tout Monde (without the LE)