my write hand
Insula
- January 24 -
i’ve heard that we are lost here
a chorus of blue-jeaned sirens
leaning on a wall of wilderness
pale-handed and chain smoking
our voices ring clean of our sins
we repent with every exhale
refusing alleluia
practicing labored discord
our final note still sounds of ‘amen’
i know that we are safe here
our backs against the frosted glass
between our shoulders falls the shadow
sweeping branches shade our blades
we bend to mock the shapes they’ve reached
while rooted in their natural sleep
we have poisoned our soil
the earth from desolation row
is now crawling with our pesticides
this is not our father’s dirt
she is no longer our Mother
we are among the undesired
orphaned on her toxic hull
we whimper into hollow breast
and hear no echoes of our distress
pale-handed and chain smoking
half-lit, we watch them fall again
lighting fire to our unmarked graves
amen
we sing
amen
this marks my foray into a more structured form. each first line of each tercet is 7 syllables, the second, 8 and the third, 9 sans the last stanza.
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