Uncategorized

Take this schrapnel and make a rose garden out of it

By Abigail George

I am left to search for the ingredients of love in my kitchen cupboards, in the refrigerator, in the sack of potatoes, in the peeled butternut
What to do with the lonely hour?
Make endless cups of tea
Let those rivers nourish your soul
Find relationship
Stroke dog or cat
Hug and care for the child who is not my own
Remember when I had it good
The bloom of youth inside each cheek
Listen to the song in the wildflower found in my aorta, the windmill that pumps away
I map the rural area in the palm of my hand
The lonely hour
The silence that winds itself around my heart like a cuckoo clock
The man is never to return to me
And it is time for me to say my prayers
To knit all the starlit embryos together
And before my candle goes out
I must find another
Love another
Or die a succession of deaths with psychological intent
Fall to the underworld
Breathe in dirt
I listen to sad music
Let it carry me to the moon
And I remember when I had it good
When you were in my arms
You weren’t as perfect as I thought you were
Now I must look for the other bodies in the snow
And bury them in the dirt
Give them stars for eyes
I’m alone on the beach again tonight
Writing my name in the sand for posterity
I think of Gaza and begin to cry for the children
I cry for the land from the river to the sea that is now in ruins
They’re calling it a Multi-Polar War
A genocide to rival Rwanda
I think of all the mentally ill wandering those streets
With no hope in sight
With no hope in sight
So I write this poem
Hide my vote
Cast it into the sea
And wait
And wait
For the love I once had to return to me
I pray for Israeli poets too
What else can I do.

Related Articles

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *