Friday, March 31, 2017

No Yams For me Please

i knew her when the years had rubbed the edges
              off her hunger
              off her fear

she was able to leave
a bit on a plate at dinner

though she still felt
the need
to push it in her mouth

sidelong looks
at a piece of pork
left near the edge
             a taunt
                or a game

but there were months,
years ago
when she eagerly
pushed aside a corpse
or       two
to get to the yams underneath

she knew they were there
death's stench
only an

copyright Audrey Howitt 2017

Process Note: I should probably change the title of this piece to Refugee's Tales or something along this line--this is a true person and this was her history during the Second World War--I wrote this piece originally as Trump's first Muslim ban came out--

Posted today for Poet's United and for Dverse

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

The Ferocity of Weeds

weeds bloom.

their ferocity pushes tiny heads up
next to the lettuces,
their heads so alike
that discernment
is discretionary,

an ambulatory experience
of chance.

Sunday, March 5, 2017

The Sky At Fourteen

standing, with knees dimpled,
she watches the sky turn.
its colors, impermanent;

yellows and browns
fill her mouth
as the sky staples itself to her tongue
and whispers into her ears,
silken threads, lay down its symbols.

in the distance,
clouds rob the horizon of trees,
pocket them
into snow's cotton,

the remainder, are but
chess pieces on a board
yet to be played.
when the rains come.

she feels tiny lacerations
in the corners below her eyes
where cardboard cheeks
can catch the tears that fall.

Audrey Howitt copyright/all rights reserved 2017

Posted for Poets United Pantry