The cloth bazaar was quietly breathing rest.

I was scanning rows of hangers for summer shorts
picking up here and there
dresses without skeletons
smiling in the revelation
why skeletons don't need shorts.

I found a poem in one of those hangers
**** with no words
begging me to drape it with some
enough to make it one summer shorts.

Something welled up in my eyes
bare as the poem and as true
and thinking of it
I bought summer shorts
not one but two.

Who are we these people who sit with words
And an audience of silent poetic spectators
Day after day we need to write to be heard
For there is no where else that these words
Can be said, read, understood.

Our country, and habitat matter not
For we are like invisible spirits
Sending out messages
Philosophical statements
Because politics has failed
There is no representative
For the majority.

Our words a last plunge
For freedom
In a world of autocracy.
So we dive deep
Swim out against the waves
Floating in waters of truce
Hoping that we can
Make a difference
However small
To enlighten,
Comfort
And share
The best we can find
Of our humanity.

Love Mary xxxx