the air burns bright with ghosts ablaze
shining with incandescent need
frantic hands snatch words from speech
maws agape in desperate hunger
they feed and feed and feed
in such a space and time as this
we cannot talk
we cannot hear
they ignore tears limning our faces
we can see each other grieve
let us give comfort
let us give kindness
feed starving spirits these
together we’ll sweep up their ashes
to keep as reminder, a holy relic
those had weight once
determined we slung them across our backs
inspired we cradled them near our hearts
older now we’re burdened by the stones in our pockets
those things we pick up on the way
to give them to someone put them somewhere
use them for something we never remember
still we grab more and more
over the years it becomes too much
we shrug off the heavy hopes
those discare the rocks we choose
they break into pieces with a thud
some end up in our pockets
some shake the building
once I thought these stories important
wrapped them around me
dazzling jewels a means to hide
now I walk more in silence
trailing memories from my fingers
dry leaves of yesterday turning to dust
soon I will be gone
ghosts of yesterday linger in alleys
spirits of might have been drift through streets
shards of broken dreams glint on sidewalks
tatters of abandoned hopes hang in storefronts
we could have gathered all to eat real food around a common table
chose instead for some to feast and others beg
found acceptable for those who have
to laugh in derisive disregard at those who lack
indeed to deny them room in any stable
those all being filled by brass calves
soon to be paraded out by fools as gold
and children starve
the scent of smoke lingers in the alley
the restaurant has been gone for awhile
the owner saw the writing on the wall
shiny dollar signs scrawled by new money
incomers remake the town into their own image
wealth management firms with financial planners
luxury sports with concierge golf
rooftop bars with small plated precious food
soon they’ll build themselves a place of worship
inside will be a golden calf
(The title is a quote from a U.S. State-in the Deepest South-Delegate)
these new gods, deities of flash and cash
delight in human sacrifice as they stride across the world,
our backs their stepping stones, our faces to the ground.
we sing in worship, songs shouting possession;
we groan in pain, cries seeking recognition.
both go unheard by the hard indifferent dirt
and the gods pay no heed at all.
why should they, made in our image?
he saved me from desperation
train trestle desolate water razor edge
perhaps discerned, I never knew
he called me over to join him
warm smile and gentle handshake
such generous welcome brought tears
he nodded, “it’s okay to cry”
we talked about childhood pain and getting old
he died, and I mourn that I never told him
he died, and I mourn that he is not here
he died, and I will always rejoice
that I knew him as a friend
he died. he was killed. he killed himself.
his face so gentle when he gazed towards the world
steeled in judgement when he turned towards the mirror.
perhaps. we don’t know for certain, for no one came to tell us
their hands filled with grief, the overflow of tears
all we can see is the holes that appeared in our quotidian walk
smiles not given, kindnesses not done, bits of sparkle and joy gone missing
mourn if we want and for a time, but better would be
once we notice a gap, think how to fill it anew
he left his heart here, I know
it shines in your eyes my eyes and the eyes of us all
because the tidal overwhelm of war remains,
and women cry until they have no voice
and orphaned children die in cratered streets
and everywhere men kill other men because they can.
I sit with my back straight and become glass.
all the grief of the world washes through me
and through you, a darkened ink of light.
we breathe. all we can do.
because the common squabble of life constantly rains,
and this one accuses that one over something
and words become harsh here there everywhere
and bitterness becomes ordinary coin.
I carry kindness in my pockets to give away
as do you, little bits of good to see us through the day.
we smile. all we can do.
we all do what we can. that is all we can do.
our home is a burning house,
a dying land, and a flooding sea.
we cling to blackened images,
throw our children into holes,
and think that we can swim.
we disregard the charred remains,
ignore the poisoned ground,
and turn our faces to the sky.
we wave and smile at the birds in the air,
as they kettle and soar.
