Excellent piece by the beautiful Alana Louise May.
You come along to collect money, and sympathy.
Propped up like a puppet; a desperate sales force.
There is commerce in loneliness.
You sit there, solo, the way I do.
Even among all those people,
you are still alone.
Blocks of blank spaces fill the ground,
paving a path that may lead
to your salvation.
Daddy didn’t prepare you for this day.
Winter coats worn by most
as you sat there – limbs exposed.
Paint peels off the wall and floats
away, the way the smile
fades into your cheeks.
A hatbox full of coins
could never fill your void.
You come along because you have no choice.
The poet who sees only those details that flatter our hopes has one eye closed to reality.
my life is a walk in the rain
I neglect the umbrella
as the raindrops christen
the sizzling sidewalk
like whispers under my feet
a flood of childhood:
wet cats in the backyard
the strays swerve swiftly
as the sidewalk fractures
cement spices stifle me
as the birds take the breeze
the sky opens with
Mother’s arms allowing me
to introduce myself to the sun
and waive the umbrella
Photo courtesy of The Guardian Liberty Voice.
Why didn’t they tell you
to straighten your necklace?
Grown up children back then;
they evolved only on the outside.
Porcelain dreams in your vapid gaze;
I wonder why they were broken.
Was it black and white back then?
Was it bleak and weak in your dreams?
Before the heaps of hurdles
were thrown at you;
before all the shattered
windows (for your escape);
when your dreams collided into the
wall and your thoughts were thrusted.
You never allowed yourself anything;
flowers nipped by the frost.
I can smell your disappointment;
your regret lingers as you loiter.
Unmoved. Removed. I disapprove
of your unintentional episodes.