24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The three little pigs knocked on the door
Let us in!
Let us in!
Their wish was granted
by the orange-haired supreme leader of yesteryear.
They huffed,
they puffed,
and they blew the house down.
Overturn your decision!
Heard from the public outcry
Not by the hairs on your chinny chin chin,
they replied.
They are pigs,
after all.
Ma told a tale
of a devout worshipper
of thunder
falsely accused of stealing a goat
sentenced
to be imprisoned
In court, he invoked his god
Thunder struck
His accusers died.
School was out
It had to be Summer
Back then the seasons were as defined
The Chicago breeze wafted through pigtails like no other air
I looked out the sunroom window at my friends playing in the park and had to get there
My sister was supposed to stop flapping jacks and walk me across the street
Instead when mama went locked back in her room sister traded spots with me in the sunroom
Looking at me cross the street
She had to have stepped away
Burning butter maybe
Morning sickness maybe
All my friends were leaving walking the long way I could not
All I saw plowing across the playground was a giant white barking blob
I hated dogs
It was going to eat such a tiny thing
I looked up at the window for guidance not a sister was seen
DO NOT RUN LAKITA
I heard God clear
Guess who ran
Lakita
I ran with my fear
Before my big toe could touch the curb back home
A green 1970 something smacked my body high as the light pole
Then low as the grass
Blood soaking my socks mouth and teeth
Tongue split in half
Right leg bent behind me
Unconscious consciences by default and ambulance lights
Don’t tell my mama
She don’t allow me to cross
Her tears mixed with mine and I was out
Wheelchair
Crutches
Stitches
Liquid lunches
My daddy say at least their ears got a tiny break
I learned to be patient and invent all types of imaginative play
I learned to ask God to protect me and no matter what allow me to do my best to follow what I hear God say
When the womb breaks at midnight beneath the midnight sun,
this mother must run 10 miles north from her sleep into the waters she came from, chanting the midnight song
for if she fails to find her scales and crown well before dawn, she must bleed the riches back to the ones who caused her creation.
So she runs now
toward the north river
to keep her riches
she must sing the midnight song
Hour Fourteen – “tell me an old story (like a folktale from your culture, a fairy-tale you heard when you were young, or a story passed down in your family). You can give it your own twist as well.”
Not Just Yet
Yama Raj waits patiently for his client to wake.
She looks peaceful, he does not want to take
her unawares.
She stirs, startles, stares
at this monstrous creature on her rocking chair.
In silken robes and a Viking hat.
‘Who are you, how dare you break into my home?’
A kind voice replies, ‘your time has come.’
‘My time? I’m going nowhere. My diary is full.’
‘But your time is up,’ meek now, this gentle bull.
‘My mate, the Grim Reaper, is in the area.
You can travel with him, but it’ll be a detour.’
‘I am going nowhere, except to my kitchen now.’
Imperious, she pushes her Zimmer past him,
‘Call him over if you want. We can discuss this over tea.
And cake.’
‘And samosas,’ she adds when she sees him light up.
In all his years in this job, no one had offered him a cup.
‘There’s no hospitality in my trade,’ he says.
They sit together, chatting like friends from old days.
The hostess resplendent in a frayed polka dotted robe,
Yama Raja in the splendour of Arabian Nights
And the Reaper, not so grim in his scythe and whites.
The new day dawns as she negotiates an extension.’
‘We’ll be back next year,’ they say, ‘no tension’.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ her voice unsteady.
And I’ll have the biryani ready.’
Unlearning
On an autumn evening
bike ride with my father
my tires skidded
to a horizontal stop
on wet auburn leaves,
rocks lodged themselves
in my bloodied hands
and chubby little knees
Circling back he dismissed my tears
which trickled and mixed with
the fear in my eyes at the
sight of my body spilling red
over rough asphalt
He said, “Get up.”
What?! I thought incredulously
“Grab your bike. No one will help you.”
The walk, though short,
was tinged with pain
and the creeping sensation of…
desolation?
Long enough to make it home
with the realization
that his generation
inherited the teaching:
Expect to suffer randomness
eat the pain and your bootstraps
to stave off abandonment—
to ask for support is less than a last resort.
I have fallen down
toppled into leaves,
dirt and concrete,
bumped, and
pushed hard into
the sharp edges
of my common sense
again and again
The scabs heal slowly,
I’m still unlearning and growing
that impactful lesson.
There’s no merit in maintaining
pretenses of soldiering on,
do you see?
Nor shame in asking:
Can you help me?
Because of the people
who show up when asked
I don’t stay down long
and I can begin
to forget the past
I double my exposure
Keeping words tucked
Inside
With an Aperture open wide
For you have a high ISO
And with a Focal speed
Growing ever nearer
That is you can’t take words back
Even they fall out of your mouth
Overexposed pictures
Show us nothing
Singing
Dancing
Telling stories
Time after time
like phone tag
until
the Singing is now voiceless sounds
the Dancing is motions that sway and flow
the stories become tales and fables of folktales and legends
Time after time
passed down through generations
until
Where are you?
And are there hawks there?
I see them everywhere,
since the day you left us.
Can you hear me?
When I talk to you, or cry?
I want to believe that you do.
I know you’ve been back to visit,
coincidences can’t possibly be this specific
seeing your face in a dream,
and hearing the music as you pass me your earbuds
waking to find my necklace
which holds your ashes,
disconnected from my neck
on the same day when Mike proposed,
I know you are around.
I don’t know what that means,
and frankly I don’t care
I just need to be able to reach out to you.
I need you to know how much I cared.
I need my brother.
I love you, brother mine
Growth
By: LuvMiFreely
Breakdowns turn into breakthroughs
They happen when the cracks within ourselves expose the need for something new
We suffer when we try to stay in an outdated version of ourselves
Not allowing our souls to embrace the new environment around us
Forgive yourself for the times you couldn’t keep it all together
You weren’t supposed to
You handed it over to God
And He handled it for you
So when the pain of holding on is greater than letting go
Release
God is increasing your territory
He’s telling you it’s time to grow