March 1, 2010

Little sister, I certainly wish I could tell you

that in the end the fifty states

will be stood on end,

their counties sliding and plunging

into the fat, wide, hungry nothing,

little sister, like misshapen teardrops,

or that the months, at least,

will sue for emancipation

from their oppressor the calendar,

leaving mankind no time frames

in which to safely exist.

 

It could happen that we will all

become lost while roaming the topography

of our own personalities, little sister,

having understandably mistaken them

for regions successfully traversed

with aid of flashlight and map,

but what I fear most is anticlimax:  
what if there is no strange ending

to befit the weird history

of human existence? What if

we simply keel over all at once

when the dual cancers of

excessive choice and freedom

have crowded out the essential nutrients

like compassion and love?  

Yellow Lawn Chair
Danna Ray
Acrylic on board

Yellow Lawn Chair
Danna Ray
Acrylic on board