Needs

To post…

To shop this weekend, decreed free of taxes…

To read a dozen books by the 24^th

and enter to win something that can

serve as a Christmas present or gift exchange,

thereby saving me future funds.

To refind self-

in the battle I keep losing

to become an acceptable person

post broken femur.

On Eating

Today is all ER avoidance

I struggle through

stomach flu/diarrhea/ urinary track infect infection

or possible mixture, thereof.

My life consist of ongoing battle

to imput move than I outtake;

body informs me I have not succeeded.

So, I consume,

again.

In Praise of the USPS

People who think the post office

serves no purpose

in this age of e-mail and text messages

Never saw a soldier smile

upon receiving a physical birthday card,

even from a total stranger.

Never got to tell another stranger

about their favorite bookstore

via means of a postcard.

Never sent a fellow poet

a daily poem each day in August

and checked the mail each evening

to see if they’ve received any in return.

I pity them.

Amen, Sister

This is a found poem.  Its source material is part of Arundhati Roy’s  2004 Sydney Peace Prize lecture.

We know

 of course

there's really no such thing

 as the 'voiceless'.

There are only

the deliberately silenced,

or the preferably

unheard.

Perspective Gained

A day that begins

with a missed, somewhat

vital call when I finally pick up

my phone to request traditional

assistance with morning pee.

I am lifted by hated metal contraption

with blue mesh that lifts body

from bed bypassing  legs

too weak to hold weight.

I watch Secret Millionaire on ABC,

followed by Pat Summit documentary

that almost has this non-sports fan weeping.

I sit at my computer,

I write,

and I think,

“What was I complaining

about earlier?”

Part of the Story of Us

Dedicated to Robyn

I love you backwards and forwards,

as different as we are.   

As much I think we should be the sort

of friends each other’s kids call auntie

in the future.

Despite bond,

I feel as if I failed

because I haven’t convinced you

that my life isn’t pathetic or pointless.

I suspect you think I’m praying

(in some secret mind corner

I don’t acknowledge due to personal politics)

to have this atypical body  repaired

like a common household appliance

by someone in a long, white lab coat

who sports the letters MD after their name.

Found

 (a not entirely found poem) 
 

It says something

about the pain people

of color inhabit daily

when a beautiful young lady’s

soul compels her to write:

 Welcome to “post-racial” America

See classism and racism collide

            Disappointed

                        Not Surprised

on her forearm with a felt tip,

deadpan a digital camera,

and post it to Facebook.