The sun lays September to rest,
my single tree quivers
against black canvas, frost steals my breath
and this night makes it hard to be a river.
My moon cannot gaze quick
enough in any direction, I stumble
over boulders, though these dormant feet stick,
one-side of heavy rubble.
Gentle, I offer, white whispers,
(and knuckles), as I lay my head to rest,
because, as he often does, the reaper
shreds nightly peace, to build a home in my chest!
I have been brought a morning in bed,
yellow hands expand my eyes.
I rise as a vulture,
slender billed, nut beaked,
baking for a sun day.
The night salted me; an open wound,
the darkness delivered my twins.
She was duplicated, the little girl,
the golden daughter of heroin and hope,
she was on ice,
waiting for me, to grow.
It was a discrete joy, a time to prevent
a murdered life, to create
an identical heaven.
This time, she was mine.
But, the golden splatter was received
as the sun rose above
shadow boxes, as my blemished hands
become liver,
and we yellowed.
With tattered feathers, “we”
became “I”.
No duplication.
No sweet, heavenly replication
waiting for me, to grow.
and then they left their home,
one by one, the salty fluid pouring
into each other, God called
down to Margaret that morning;
“I know spaces between stones,
that, years ago, repressed me.
A harp was broken by an angel,
and now you shall go empty.”
Drums beat wild; a spell of evils
cast up from Hell’s almighty.
Can I exist, just as this?
A nightmare in a body?
I was given a black trail,
a tricycle, and blindly
left my post beneath the drums
to find captivity.
I listened from a noisy Inn
near the Mighty Mississippi,
its waters shook all voice
and took it selfishly.
So, I went, to a purple mountain,
to visit Mighty Oak Trees,
but my tears tried to drown
me there, drip, drip, dripping.
Heaven became worth it when
I had realized it hardly,
every stone and every man
awaited hardening,
I sat in line, in silence
with them, picking at my knees,
when fire grabbed a child’s limb
and she screamed in agony.
I found that I was not an
Angel, the devil had been dwelling
in wine and liquor and
my heart had, all this time, been failing.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 