Hour Seventeen: Kaleidoscope
gemstones of memories
tumble through my mind; each turn
new patterns of truth
MMIW: Pocahontas
MMIW: Pocahontas
Here’s another sad tale
of an Indigenous girl
stolen from her land
and forced into marriage.
Many of you know of her
from Disney’s movie:
Pocahontas.
It displayed her as a proper age
and was in love with John Smith.
I too was taken away by this fantasy
that was fed to us.
I relearned her story in High School,
where in History Class another Native girl
did a report on Pocahontas.
But the school project was not the entire truth.
In contrary to Disney,
Pocahontas was only 11.
A young girl, barely a young woman.
She lived in fear of the settlers and soldiers,
because rape was a popular sport.
When John saw the young girl
with long black hair
running around with her friends.
He wanted her.
So, he took her at the age of 15.
She was forced into marriage,
was raped by men.
All the while she saw her own husband murdered.
A broken soul, beaten and scorned,
was forced into another marriage
and was given an English name, Rebecca.
Like Sacagawea, she also died in her 20’s.
Only to have her story romanticized and condensed.
18. Still There
Where do they go,
the lines born to parchment
then aborted?
whose fetal metaphors,
each stillborn line,
lost before its time,
unbirthed before
the writer signed
and claimed it for his own?
Hour 16
Ended up with a prose type poem.
Hour 16
The problem with being in love with a group of poets is I’m monogamous. And most live hours away across state lines. And even if they were close I would be to shy to say much more than hi. So how could they fall in love with me back? And maybe I’m not in love love but one of those other forms of love the Greeks talked about. Back when Zeus’s love life was first told. Maybe I just love them like family. Or maybe it’s friends. Or maybe those are the same. But I know I love my circle of poets.
Prompt 20 – Feeding my Dog – a Daily Ritual of Love
Image Courtesy of Pixabay
Each morning, as the sun stretches its golden fingers across the horizon, a ritual unfolds in my life, a dance of love and devotion. With a bowl in hand, I step into the quiet kitchen, where the soft light of dawn spills through the curtains.
The homemade feast, a medley of flavors and scents, is carefully portioned onto her plate. Her tail, a metronome of joy, wags with eager delight as she prances around, a ballet of excitement. Her eyes, deep pools of gratitude, meet mine, and in that moment, a bond unbreakable is reaffirmed.
With each bite, she tastes not just the food but the love that fills it. Her gentle slurps and satisfied sighs compose a melody that serenades my heart. In these quiet moments, as we share this morning ritual, I find solace and contentment.
Morning light dawns,
Tail wags, eyes speak gratitude,
Love’s daily ritual.
Antoinette LeRoux © 2023
What is love when it’s one sided?
what is love when it’s one-sided?
What is love if you’re not appreciated?
what is love when you feel like the journey is just yours?
What is this kind of love on rainy days?
In the heat? On bad days?
What is love when it’s one-sided?
Saturday ritual
Wake early,
body ready like a colt
brain fogged like an old horse
drink fresh water
Shower, skin cool,
basic stretches, look out for knees,
coffee, painkillers, boiled egg, blueberries.
Lace up the lilac trainers
with tangerine soles,
Attach barcode at wrist.
Car keys or rail pass
dependent on the destination.
Join hoards of other strangers gathering
at the start line
for nine,
or half past in Scotland.
Hour 20 – Giving Up
Giving Up
– A golden shovel based on To Be Known, a song by Carsie Blanton
Isn’t it interesting how
as you grow you
let go of all you had:
your home, your beliefs, a
clearinghouse of the child’s
ideas and ways. a-way
with the garden of
your past, a dreaming
memory. then, don’t
you know, you
turn around and miss
those very things. it
is gone. you now
must live without what you’ve
given up. sucks to be grown.