As the leaves whip downward
In the wind and rain,
So autumn advances toward an unavoidable
Bleakness.
Still, laughter erupts and points
To the beauty now.
***
Crossposted at joanvinallcox.ca
Against Stereotyping
Beauty Everywhere- on the Streetcar
The older woman smiles at a baby;
the mother in a hijab smiles back.
The man with a tattoo sleeve
thanks the driver for his transfer.
The proper older lady in her white-trimmed navy blue dress
is gently guided by a dreadlocked younger woman.
The woman in the seat ahead
wears a butterfly-print shirt.
The teen in his black hoodie stands and gestures
the young mother into his seat.
Beauty everywhere.
***
Beauty Everywhere – on the Sidewalk
The young woman in ripped jeans walks
her bike through the intersection
Inside the coffeeshop an older man stops
reading to talk to a kid.
A woman in Tibetan dress walks
with a boy wearing a Spiderman Tee.
A little girl wearing a red polka-dot dress
waves at a streetcar driver.
A woman uses her phone to capture
a front yard flower for Instagram.
Beauty everywhere.
Obligations Collide
When obligations collide, my heart unfolds.
I try to read what is written for tomorrow
without my glasses. I must decide.
This slippery road leads me into strange spaces.
The centre collapses unexpectedly, but the periphery
may knit into a new street view. I search.
Steering blindly by what is yet hidden
I try to avoid the road rages of others
and drive cleanly into the mystery.
Our New Times
In this dark morning, I navigate
By electric green numbers
And red dots announcing
Civilization – but unaware, sleeping,
Perhaps more than vulnerable,
Lost, fearfully grasping poisonous
Barbarisms, eyes closed
To the common good.
Undiscovered Dreams
The weight of undiscovered dreams
in my belly
shifts and
the clock that isn’t there
lights up.
Outside of hope
or fear
or understanding,
the orphan
Is restless.
The blanket,
now too heavy,
covers the blurry force of
a kind of morning.
For Whom the Bell Tolls
A friend of my youth has died, and another is probably dying. Microcosm. The world is in a perilous state. Macrocosm.
Anger & Grief
Anger
What is anger?
The conflicting stories
and silences?
The moments blocked?
What is anger?
The empty spaces
where I turn away,
wanting?
What is anger?
Is it this anticipation of loss:
the burnt-out remnants
of old miseries?
***
Grief
What is grief? Stumbling by haunted spaces
and turning away from your empty chair?
What is grief? The evening silences scratching
the scabs of your amputation from me?
Sackcloth and ashes pool behind my empty eyes
imprinting memories where your smile fades
Where is the garden you have abandoned?
What song is playing as you pull away?
Bleakly I walk and walk on muddied paths.
My stories now lost; their endings destroyed.
All sunsets are grey; all voices not yours.
There’s nothing I want and nowhere to be.
Then comes my scalding tears in their scarring tracks:
a slow stinging that solaces me in this deadened time.
Fury
Only when I am finally and irrevocably
awake
Do I sweep up my mistakes and
Bundle them into the oven where
I watch them shrivel and
Dance
And shrink.
I listen to their gasps and
Screams
And bathe in their
Arid aroma,
Shaking
My head,
My heart hurting.
Compostable Dust
I imagine death
socking me
as I change lanes,
my hair flying as
it did in my youthful dancing
I imagine death
dulling me
as I lounge
watching war and weather casualties
on the tv news
I imagine death
surprising me
while I stretch in yoga class
earnestly trying to reach
more
I imagine death
counting what years I have
left
and know more deeply
that I am dust.
My Body, My Mother
My body is my mother
And I don’t like her.
She’s getting old and fat.
I hide from her, ignore her
And frown at her clothes.
She doesn’t take care of herself.
She wants me to exercise her
And I don’t wanna.
She should take care of herself.
And not bother me.
My body is my mother
And I want to love her.
I want to feed her what she needs
And show her how to move and play.
It’s hard, but I need to feel her love.
Learning Living 