On
Building Ant-balls and Arks
scraping
at bark of old trees
causes
stories to rise why scrape at all
if
you are not willing to hear
ants
running for their lives
ants creating flotsam of clinging appendages
tangled
and unwilling to concede
ants making armor of themselves
we
need armor
we
need to press ourselves together
towards
a single saturated goal
sweat
of brow and breast
unable
to drown solidifying belief
that
even if the tree were to fall
or
because the tree would fall
they
would rise confused and dazed
in
blind furious fury of having shade removed
yet suddenly swimming into spaces
clear
enough to see sky
we
have lost our homes our foundations
our
land our wombs little by little deaths
have
undermined roots that thought to hold
yet unknown our skill
at
unearthing memories we hid
in
fist of hearts
listen
to token tales of me too
that
tender shoot daring to rise again
does
not bear reach of your own
push
and pull struggle to break free
on
its own unfurling as if it could
find
faith floating amidst so much rubble
we who have unpinned our pinafores
followed
dust motes' dancing
counted
cracks in ceilings
shaved
our heads gone down for third
time
despaired
at lick and lash of willow branches
found
ourselves on surgical tables
spread-eagled
under drip and drape
like
some funereal ghost ship sent adrift
to
have our very wombs ripped out
in
order to be given to surrender
to
will of some god of saline sanctity
for
sake of some strangers
knives
in hand
who
have whispered they should take
what
they could not own
this
great womb beneath gnarled roots
deep
underground where we have kept quiet
reminders
that we are gifted beyond words
to
be written on paper that came from these trees
set
sail in storms these tiny paper ships
truths
that will blind the deaf whispers
that
dumb cannot see yes women who write poems
are
more dangerous than pink hats
on
ruffled flamingoes we take hearts of
trees
and
words carved into branches
to
make ourselves arks that will carry us
away
from those who would think
to
own our bones
our
muscles our deepest reaches
as
if they knew nothing of ants
bobbling
in bilious floods not needing an ark at all
shhhh willows dipping their pens into calm waters
will
tell you secrets about old trees
ants
and arks and amniotic fluids
©Carol
Desjarlais 5.31.19
Let us
reach, always to help others, even if we do not know if they need us to or not. Let us cling together so that we might get
through tough things from before, now, and in the future.
Do not
reach for your own comfort. Reach for someone
else who may look like their lives are all roses and sunshine. Remember, many have shadows you cannot believe.
©Carol
Desjarlais 6.2.19
Beautiful Love.
ReplyDeletety. xoxo
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