I caught a curly haired boy in a dream and called him mine.
Taught him history and tear gas;
dressed him down in prison stripes.
Churched him never look the devil
straight in the black and white.
Now, he strides
soft and sober as a deacon,
but I
still don't sleep at night.
For Open Link Monday at Real Toads
Monday, November 10, 2014
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About Me
- Maude Lynn
- Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. ---Flannery O'Connor
16 comments:
I don't sleep much either.
Though it may not have been your intention, I read this as a subtle tribute to the curly-haired boys lost to so many events in history.. his memory remains steadfast, but we must live with the constant knowledge that he will not be the last to fall.
Whew! Interesting and good!
ZQ
You never fail to amaze me!! Wonderful, as always!!
"Churched him". Love that.
My words are not good enough to explain how I feel when I read your poetry. Another Purple Ribbon Grand Champion.
Great flow and images in this poem.
I second Kerry's comment.
I second Kerry's comment.
My thoughts go to recent event in Henderson...
My thoughts went to the history of white supremacy, based on fear and greed. Brilliant.
My thoughts went to the history of white supremacy, based on fear and greed. Brilliant.
in you words you show the horror of war...it's chilling and hurtful bravo Mama Zen, lest they forget
Excellent, almost confessional. Are you the unreliable narrator?
this is amazing, MZ!
♥
For some reason, I just don't trust this boy... So weird.
I don't sleep much, either, MZ ~
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