Mother Nature,
green-thumbed,
with eyes of purpose,
with floor length gowns,
went about her morning gardening.
Singing to her crops of we,
the skin of her feet tracing mountains and reefs,
granting rain to the thirst farmer patch,
her scent driving men to humility.
Lungs filled sharp as she winced her eyes,
at the sight of blood she grit her teeth.
The urban thorns were growing now
and choking blossoms of unity.
Remnants of her song now ghost,
the sky grew dark as she approached.
She snipped, with hurricane-force sheers,
and trimmed Louisiana's coast.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 8:36 PM UTC
Mother Nature,
green-thumbed,
with eyes of purpose,
with floor length gowns,
went about her morning gardening.
Singing to her crops of we,
the skin of her feet tracing mountains and reefs,
granting rain to the thirst farmer patch,
her scent driving men to humility.
Lungs filled sharp as she winced her eyes,
at the sight of blood she grit her teeth.
The urban thorns were growing now
and choking blossoms of unity.
Remnants of her song now ghost,
the sky grew dark as she approached.
She snipped, with hurricane-force sheers,
and trimmed Louisiana's coast.
Day 21, in reaction to reading Patricia Smith's 'Blood Dazzler'
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