Humans

Just a bag of meat

that pretends to be

more important

than time.

Don’t feed the demon

We have all been wounded

by those who judge,

hurl invectives,

put up barriers

or physically abuse.

We have been scarred

and marked by it.

But this

is not

our narrative.

These aggressions,

these demonstratives…

that’s their narrative.

Let it be their epitaph.

It is not the prologue

to our story.

It is what we do despite these things

that will serve to inform

who we are.

Mother’s Day

As I think about things,

my feelings,

the worst parts about

what it is that I am…

I try to remember

that I am just working my way

through the world

one day at a time.

It’s easy to offer advice

to the people around us,

to tell folks,

“I did this, and you should too”.

The reality is,

on any given day,

we’re working out

what it is

we’re supposed to be.

Nobody knows anything.

There are no geniuses,

there are just,

after the fact,

sages…

Let’s instruct

one – another.

Dirt museum

The valley here

was once the pantry

to the world.

Today the remnants

of its past

are lonely silos

standing silent sentinel

over the empty acreage

of forgotten farmland.

Here and there

fields still function

but mostly some urban warriors

working to reinvent

the archaic.

Somewhere East

lie the factory farms,

their efficiency

unparalleled

and unromantic.

Like accusing fingers,

raised to the sky,

these unnumbered silos

force a remembering

that shames us.