How would you have known I inherited my nomad heart
from faded photographs of my father at large on some
adventure march with overloaded off the road camel modes
of transportation and that I stayed up for days at the
salt encrusted tiller of tranquility in an empty sea for privacy
away from all the endeavors community demands and oh,
how crisp the stars are in three dimensions of nowhere and
there you are! There you are, I say, wearing the hair you
haven’t brushed in a week with a can of Vienna sausages
to fill up your empty belly before sheer terror overtakes you

Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2015

Walking the glade tonight nature first appears right
yet it is not, when mounds of grass convert to browns
too soon, and down by the stream massed butterflies
seem silently caught in fertilized grey shrouds, clouds
of pollution say they breed no more, too weak to flutter.  .
War like this against earth's vale of favour brings claims
of sheer neglect which sees no further than dying bees
and will not question why, from earth, they get no reply.
A few years hence no wishing will recompense for this
for from foolhardiness gross greed created a fatal mess.
Seeing tonight this suffering glade makes me so afraid.

Eva comes home from work to where there are many flies
and slaps my brother side-headed because he left the back
door open,  she is bovine heavy and limps to close it.  We eat

Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and it is soothing like peanut butter
fudge or Pepsi-Cola.  Eva says do the dishes up boys,  goes
to bed and cries.  Me and brother go to sleep and I dream

of a burning house.

An odorant flower
Has a brisk market