Yield
Margery HannahA bitter taste an after taste He wants me to swallow He holds my mouth open with Popsicle sticks Over and over he examines it
Love in the Afternoon, Restoration
For the first time, I read a poem of mine (written in real time at the workshop) for an audience. Love in courage, I share my piece:
Babies
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…
Role Call
Roll Call 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 eye chocolates reminding me of me.
Taboo Brown and Blue
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…
Killeen Sky
by Margery Hannah There is an ocean largeabove Texaswhere copper flickersivory fish ribs scale the expanse like veins in overgrown leavesand a skeleton man smiles downat meWhere clouds paddle near eternityAnd I inhale and swim intermittentlyWhere from one small lightgenerations are bornAnd stars salute as soldiers to respectable seniorsAnd I…
Storms
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?
Magistrate
to my place of bread I was unpleasant unpleasantly duressed by lack of water I could wash neither body nor favorite dress nor feed my yielding inedible plant, nor swallow it 240 minutes waterless
Prosperity
Prosperity By Margery Hannah Sand falls to the platter of dry branches resting in a baby cardboard box I bless you and lower my gaze wipe greased palms on linen white Drop it in the box Chant, “Prosperity, prosperity, prosperity” Match the platter with burning light Now, spit upon the…
Fig Trees
Fig Trees By Margery Hannah I want to be the red dot beaming on canvas bleached The Son I am to ears bright of faces without teeth The Tupac of despair, the Pryor of fears laughing at tears dried by Martin’s dream