Out of our cradle
endlessly rocking
so soothing to suck and swing,
we be, Wives to the House
we working women
with clean fingernails.
Rural and dirty, illiterate, failed to be-
come organized and erected,
built and projected by chart.
Fortunate: Educate the ‘poor’,
Entitle the ‘rich’ by degrees and
adding zeros
we carry on, pound for pound.
In War
Peace. Conflict. Stability. Conflict.
War, Again. The sequel.
Work harder, work longer, work smarter, weave your
World Wide Webs
Catch the drift and save it for later.
Faith
Science
Tradition
Armed men have arrested the development
of reach, nucleic re-armament
fires up
and we women make mud pies
with what we have.
Grow food, “make” food, “buy” food
and storage for later.
Trees to homes to paper planes,
Origamic Plastic Pyramids
surmounting slag on landfill,
a slippery slope, a slide-show.
Bare feet babies scramble to fill shoes
made from recycled tires
and the miles
felt without insoles.
It is too late to change
courses.
Adapt. Improve. De(con)struct. It was all made
for you
to find a swing of things, how high
may be gotten before
going all the way around
giving blood
blisters from holding our chains
too tight.
Image of photo By Nikater (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Petrified Forest.
