Saturday, March 29, 2014

My Sister

My sisters
Tenderloin dope fiends
Loud, Crazy
Collapsed in Despair
Offering body in trade
Thinking it little worth
Begging and Plaintive
Angrily Demanding

Drunken falling
Sidewalk sprawling
Nodding heroin dreams
Hitting speed
Passed the fuck out

Face collapsed
Twice their age

I love you.
You are beautiful.
Someone's daughter.
Someone's mother.
My sister.

I don't mean in potential.
I don't mean on the inside.
Just beautiful
To me.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Dirty Hand

Something there is that's so attractive about a dirty hand,
A hand not spent in indoor things,
Nor sipping tea,
Nor gently touching a perfect face.
A hand that plays and grubs
and feels the real that's real.
The kind of hand that makes the world.

Thanks to +lerato majikfaerie who's photo of a spider and hand inspired this poem, and to Robert Frost who's Mending Wall took over that spot in my brain that dictates rhythm and feel to the extent that I was done before I stopped to wonder where that came from, although the middle reminds me more of an Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem.  No not How do I love thee? Let me count the ways, but the poem of hers that I love the best, If thou must love me, let it be for nought.