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gwen-davis-feldmanPoems
Touch – An act that’s been corrupted Even through clothes - Your 2nd skin   Yes, I am Presumptuous Crossing a barrier Erected by The tyranny Of a false decorum We don’t touch that which We fear, distrust, hate So I touch you, Your smooth unscarred arms, Hug your broad Sometimes slumping shoulders As I tell you that You remind me of my Niece, the one in Vegas Who danced For her supper; My nephew, Kind, clever, innocent, And dead. Arrest me For touching Your face to allay My fears; nightmare Dreams of you sprawled On some ***** 8X8, gas station Bathroom floor Searching your dreams For the money, the needle, The power to control Your future I can only give you One key A book With hopes That your 3rd grade Self has not Been forsaken and You can read I can’t teach you What my fears Teach me Everyday The news rings out Pictures of lifeless Black Bodies carried From the filthy 8X8s Potential men & women Who’ve flunked Their assignments In search of ease, Acceptance and Painlessness How strong are you? My fears fall flat Against the bathroom walls That have touched your history A history from which Only you can Draw on That 8X8 cell Strength     or Despair By Gwen Davis-Feldman © 2016
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Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
Touch and the Teacher (What is Lost in a Gas Station Bathroom)
Touch – An act that’s been corrupted Even through clothes - Your 2nd skin   Yes, I am Presumptuous Crossing a barrier Erected by The tyranny Of a false decorum We don’t touch that which We fear, distrust, hate So I touch you, Your smooth unscarred arms, Hug your broad Sometimes slumping shoulders As I tell you that You remind me of my Niece, the one in Vegas Who danced For her supper; My nephew, Kind, clever, innocent, And dead. Arrest me For touching Your face to allay My fears; nightmare Dreams of you sprawled On some ***** 8X8, gas station Bathroom floor Searching your dreams For the money, the needle, The power to control Your future I can only give you One key A book With hopes That your 3rd grade Self has not Been forsaken and You can read I can’t teach you What my fears Teach me Everyday The news rings out Pictures of lifeless Black Bodies carried From the filthy 8X8s Potential men & women Who’ve flunked Their assignments In search of ease, Acceptance and Painlessness How strong are you? My fears fall flat Against the bathroom walls That have touched your history A history from which Only you can Draw on That 8X8 cell Strength     or Despair By Gwen Davis-Feldman © 2016
#drugs#touch#education#teaching
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gwen-davis-feldman
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
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