Poetic thought on the blessing coming prior to the maturity. Sometimes we postpone decisions or run from opportunity because we feel ill-prepared and lack faith; fear clouds the path to good stewardship. And in parenthood? Is one ever truly ready? Psalms 127:3 “Children are a gift from the Lord. They are a reward from Him.”
by Margery Hannah
I am only a person
tall and plain, tongue maimed long
ago when cow bells were ringing.
I was in love with those big
reminding me of me.
I was just thinking about dark matter, how powerful it is, how it is the beginning of us all, the mother, the Eve, thee eve. Dark matter is undetectable, yet robustly influential on the universe and evolution, and black holes let nothing escape–not light, not stars, not galaxies. At the latter’s edge, time appears to stop and at its core, matter shrinks to infinite density and the known laws of physics break down. And I thought my mother was an overbearing and powerful mystery. You. Don’t. Know. Her.
Genetics dictate we are a 50/50 split of our parents, and researchers have identified various cycles that continue from one generation to the next. But how similar are we really to our parents and how do we become our own person–and what loop will we become in the chain of familial tradition?
by Margery Hannah There is an ocean largeabove Texas where copper flickers ivory fish ribs scale the expanse like veins in overgrown leaves and a skeleton man smiles downat me Where clouds paddle near eternity And I inhale and swim intermittently Where from one small lightgenerations are born And stars salute as soldiers to respectableContinue reading “Killeen Sky”
Monday meter from #theliterarypurveyor: An avenue named for the state and its best city is the median for two juxtaposed neighboring communities—Crown Heights and Brownsville—and the setting for today’s #poetry
The stumble I don’t recall, only the image of the tall, lean nanny named Jean standing at the top of the basement staircase looking down at me, unmoved by my cries, navigates the hippocampus.
The Welcoming Committee
asked me to present a thirty dollar
poem. Like sun-sweet honey
make it, they say, coruscate
I’ve lived at twelve o’ four Clymouth street for over fifty years. I’ve seen people move in and out and trees grow from saplings into fat telephone poles with umbrellas that shade the streets like canopies. Don’t ask me what kind of trees—I don’t pay much attention if they don’t yield fruit. Lord knows I can’t eat leaves. I’ve seen neighbors become grandmas and grandpas and children become parents. I’ve seen the children I once taught piano become performers, doctors, teachers, and drug addicts. Yes, I’ve seen it all and I’m gonna tell you about one family. Yes, just a one because that’s all you have time for. Life moves so fast these days; I don’t want to take up too much of it. Before you know it, you’ve blinked your eyes and you’ve become grey and toothless like me.
I look forward to them the way
I once wet-tongued over
cotton candy as a child.
Neon afro-sugar melting
in my mouth, what is
sweeter than that?