her black ribbon

She tied her red hair back with a black carbon ribbon
from the novel she abandoned that year .
Pain from the loss of her lover stained her
like the sudden death of a gifted wonder child.

She and They

Liberators

Protectors

Derisive Saints

Their cries for women

For the fruits of women

For less bodies hewn 

and torn apart

It was just a skirmish 

It was also a path

For Metropolitan women

Just like Neapolitan cream

layers flavored

brown white and cat eared pink

The wonder and the bleeding

Leading into faith

Into the mercies of love

But it was her she held

 In the dark nights

And in the light of determination 

Freeing Their Healing and Victory!

Now, her loss is terrifying.

Where are the rights they fought for?

Where was the comfort and shelter of the oppressed?

Why is the gulch sinking deeper?

Where, the hands across the waters?

Hands across the street?

Hands that now wash the laundry
Now, yes, eyes that grow with rusty sweat

Women of mourning

Yea, puppets of small men,

Despise these slings and arrows,

There is no defeat.

In the evening

At the sunset
let us cry,

Let them rest. 

11/8/2022.  Dedicated to L and K

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A write I started earlier this year has formed out to this. Most of my family, you know the reference material and this moves me greatly. I struggled to properly read it aloud to my wife. She likes it, knows what it means to me. Grief often keeps me quiet, this is an effort not to be so.

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