I feel vulnerable

my chest a cracked egg leaking yolk

so I tell noone

the new shoes I purchased with some guilt

sit hard & unyielding, a spiteful metaphor

in their shiny box, with uncreased, perfumed paper

an absurdity I realize

thinking of those who have no food, no housing

breathing in the sorrow of poverty like a virus

in that moment life feels like a game of chess

the players without hands to move carved pieces

watching as fate, or happenchance, or some machination

creates electric storms and hail overhead

leaving morning as clear as a child’s complexion

I hear the sonorous voice of my mother laughing

a stranger, the hand of someone I have never met, lies in mine

pinched violets, murmuring over a bad phone line

I am afraid, I am afraid, I am afraid

without succor this life can feel like a weeping blister

emptiness holding her skirts as rain falls thickly

friends become enemies, enemies become friends

I don’t let it out very often, that vulnerability

it chokes in my throat, a feathered serpent

where all real things lie, unspoken, cuckolded

by the scold of people pretending strength

and a vein of cruelty as silver as my hair

when you stroked it before you died, before morning

rose brilliant and blemished with Spring’s luster

I put away the shoes, they never fit, my feet are broken

their lacquered ox-blood tongues befit someone lighter

for me, it is better to walk barefooted, dirty soled

even as the ground swells with tears and soon

it will be too hot to touch, so we must

fly, tight against electric derecho.

9 Replies to “Electric”

  1. Were are they gone
    the Fates of olden myth
    agents of a rough justice
    but myth they were
    where uncaring chance
    rolls the dice of life
    and supply and demand
    place the wagers
    and human hearts
    break or are distracted
    with lamentable ease
    and against those winds
    may we be fools enough
    to love and run
    to flock together
    and fly on tattered wings

  2. Thank you dearest Bob for always extending the beauty of a thought into a thousand pieces of imagination, I am constantly inspired by your translations xoxo

  3. Mutual inspiration is a joy. I realized after whiting it that I’d drawn also from two songs; Bruce Springsteen’s Running against The Wind, and McCartney/Lennon’s Blackbird.

  4. Thank you so very much my talented friend 💗

  5. Thank you dearly lovely Ophelia 💜 really grateful 🙏

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